


You Are Mine, and I Am Yours

by Grace Kay (Drummerchick7)



Series: Forbidden Magic [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drummerchick7/pseuds/Grace%20Kay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Inquisition, AU Forbidden Magic. A warrior saves a Dalish elf from a mob. In time, they must face their feelings and find a way to stay together. Mature. Leliana/Solona Amell, Cassandra/female Lavellan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This story is AU Dragon Age: Inquisition. I woke up a few days ago with the opening scene in my head, and decided to write it down and see where it led. And I just kept writing. I'm not sure how long this'll be, but I do hope you enjoy it.
> 
> The AU aspect is unclear to even me. At the moment I'm working on the assumption that the Inquisition never happened. And for those who liked my Warden, she is here!
> 
> All characters and countries and such belong to Bioware... except Solona. She's all mine. :)

They raise all manner of things against her: stones, cutlery, their very fists. As one they come down, and a pitiful scream reverberates through the chamber.

The tall woman strides through the room. "Enough!" she calls.

Immediately the others – elves, all – back down, lowering their makeshift weapons. Their eyes are downcast as befit their station. This was not a display meant for humans to see. Where has this woman come from?

The dusky-skinned woman with the scars upon her face and a warrior's weapons upon her hip moves closer, looking upon the one the rest have attacked. She lies naked, bleeding. They tore away her clothes before they attacked her, leaving her wearing only a leather collar at her throat. She is a young woman, short-cropped hair like the warrior's own, black with a shock of bright-white near her temple. She has the markings of the Dalish upon her face, though where the red tattoos end and the bleeding cuts and gouges begin the warrior cannot tell.

She looks nothing like the other elves, with her tattoos and hunter's physique and scars. Was this the reason for the attack?

Squatting, the warrior gathers the half-delirious elf into her arms as if she weighs no more than a child. Standing with her burden, she exits the hall, having said no more words than that first one. The other elves watch her retreating back, astounded.

* * *

She knows only pain. She screamed as their weapons came down upon her. They called her all manner of unpleasant things, none of which she could understand. She was the only one in that room with the  _vallaslin_. They do not speak her language, nor her theirs. She is a stranger in a strange land. She is a captive.

 _That_  she understands perfectly. It has been beaten into her often enough since she was captured while on the hunt.

She does not gain full awareness until she finds herself laid gently on a soft surface. It is the first soft thing she remembers since leaving her clan many months before. Since then it has been hardness and pain, hunger and thirst, surrounded by people who do not speak her language.

The smooth, familiar creak of leather recalls her attention. Looking around, she finds she is in a lavish room, gold and ivory affixed to nearly every surface. Lush sofas and overstuffed chairs are tastefully arranged around the large room. It is utterly foreign to the Dalish elf.

Completely out of place is a dark-skinned woman in a warrior's leathers. She is human, that much the elf can tell immediately. She rummages at a washbasin, silent, back tall and straight even as she leans over the counter. As the elf watches, the human takes a moment to remove her weapons' belt, setting it carefully on one of the plush chairs nearby. Then the woman picks something up, turning around, her dark eyes meeting the elf's.

She says something the elf cannot decipher. The elf shakes her head, trying to communicate that she does not understand. The woman's brows knit, and she, too, shakes her head, walking with bowl and jug of water in-hand and kneeling next to the bed.

It's a bed. The elf has never slept on a bed, but she understands that this is one. As the warrior kneels, she realizes two important details: one, that the warrior's face is kind, her expression showing concern; and two, that she herself is utterly and completely naked. She'd had clothes! Where had they gone?

Hand stealing absently to the collar about her neck, she attempts to cover up, curling her body into a fetal position, only to cry out feebly when such motion causes pain to course through her body. The warrior's hands are on her immediately – warm, callused, strong. The human makes reassuring noises, her brows knit in concern, her brown eyes warm like honeyed halla milk. Her words are still not understood by the elf, but she uncurls, looking up into those eyes and knowing in her heart of hearts that this human means to help.

It is the first offering of kindness she has received since leaving her clan months before.

They are both quiet as the human begins to clean her wounds.

* * *

The elf sleeps. The warrior sets aside the bowl of warmed water, now stained red with elven blood, and sits back on her heels. She sighs. This place is so strange. Why must she be here? Why must she accept this "gift" of an elven slave to serve her while she is a guest here? It is despicable. But at least she can use it to save this poor, wretched, beaten creature now lying naked upon her bed.

She gets to her feet when she sees the elf's skin pucker with the cold. This is normally a hot land, but it is winter here, and the warrior has not asked for the fires to be lit. She cannot bring herself to make use of the slave labor here. Elves are not treated well at home, but they are at least servants, paid for their labor, if not enough to truly be  _fair_. Retrieving her cloak, she covers the elf, knowing she'll eventually need to speak with the slaves here, as she cannot do everything for herself – they simply won't let her. She must play along, or none of this will work.

Sighing, she slips out the door, leaving her weapons where they are for the moment. Walking crisply, back straight as it always is, she makes her way to her colleague's room.

She is allowed entry immediately upon knocking.

"Ah, Cassandra. Did you make your selection?"

The warrior frowns at her colleague, Sister Nightingale, the Left Hand of the Divine - and when they were alone, Leliana. They use Orlesian and veiled terminology, for they can only assume they are being listened to at every turn. "I… yes, I did. Much to my disgust." Looking around the room, she spots a dark-skinned woman, darker even than her own skin, readying something in the corner. "And how is our friend living up to her role of scholar, Sister Nightingale?"

The Left Hand of the Divine smiles coyly. "She knows her place," the redhead jokes.

Cassandra scowls. "Keep your bedroom humor to yourself. I have already walked in on you two enough. You do not need to tease each other in front of me, as well."

A snort of laughter travels across the room from the "scholar" in the corner. "You were perfectly happy to join in that one time, Cass."

The warrior's cheeks flush. "Yes. That one time. And that was it. Never again, with the two of you. Leliana lives and breathes discretion, but  _you_ , Solona, would not know it if it ran you through with my sword."

"Oh,  _do_  give me your sword, proud warrior," Solona quips, causing Cassandra's cheeks to flare further.

Leliana tuts. "Solona, really, this is entirely inappropriate. It was only the one time, and we all  _did_  agree not to talk about it ad nauseum."

"It is alright, Leliana," Cassandra says, before either of them can carry on. "I know how to shut her up if I truly need to."

They both raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Cassandra smirks, slowly annunciating every word. "I believe last time all I needed to do was shove your own smallclothes in your mouth."

Solona merely stands, her mouth gaping like a fish as she stares at Cassandra. Her eyes have immediately dilated with desire. Leliana giggles. Cassandra inwardly sighs. The two of them will be at it within seconds of her departure. But she can at least finish this discussion before she lets them at each other.

"I came by to inform you that I have chosen my…  _gift_. But she does not understand me. Perhaps between the three of us we can find a language we have in common with her?"

The other two quit looking to each other with looks of lust and focus on the Divine's Right Hand. "What made you choose her?" Leliana asks.

"The other slaves were attacking her. They beat her into semi-consciousness as I was walking in to make my selection."

"That's terrible!"

Solona knits her brows. "Why do you think they would turn on  _her_  specifically?"

Cassandra can only shrug. "I have no idea. She bears the mark of the Dalish on her face, the physique of one of their hunters, though badly undernourished. I do not know why the other elves would turn against her. But I took the opportunity I had to save her the fate of being trampled by a mob."

"Oh Cassandra, ever the hero," Leliana teases.

"I do what my conscience commands, Leliana. Now, Solona. Will you come heal her please?"

The arcane warrior nods, hurrying after her as Cassandra turns to leave. Leliana's voice halts her before she gets to the door, however. "She is only a gift while we stay here, Cassandra," she is reminded. "We cannot save her. She will remain as a slave to the Imperial Chantry of Tevinter."

Shaking her head, Cassandra resumes her exit of her friend and colleague's rooms, the woman's lover in-tow. "I know."

* * *

A low whistle sounds. "Damn, they really don't like her, do they?"

Solona is examining the elf from afar. The young woman's – Cassandra thinks so, anyway; it can be difficult to tell age with elves – face is lacerated multiple times, some of them so deep Cassandra could see the glistening white of bone through the blood as she cleaned. The rest of her body fared a little better from the beating, the cuts and bruises not going so deep. Cassandra had seen a foot or two land upon the poor creature, though, so she knows there could be damage internally that is invisible to the eye.

"If she wakes up she may need to be restrained," Solona warns, kneeling next to Cassandra's charge. "This is a lot of damage, Seeker. It will take time."

"I am most concerned about internal injuries we cannot see. She tried to curl up and then cried out in pain. Do what you can with what time you have. Please."

Her eyes lighting up and her voice taking on its strange arcane cadence, the arcane warrior pulls back the cloak some. "Save your manners for Val Royeaux, Seeker. We have an image to keep up here. Not even the Left Hand's room is completely free."

Nodding, Cassandra settles back to watch and offer any assistance. The arcane warrior's hands light up, and then that strange, blue liquid-light is pouring from her hands and into the elf's body. At first there is no change outwardly. Cassandra can only assume Solona has started with any internal injuries that might be present.

Cassandra takes this moment to study the elf she saved. Her short hair is ragged, as though it were cut unevenly. The shock of white suggests an old injury; were she to look more closely, Cassandra bets she would find a scar leading from her face onto her scalp. The collar about her neck draws the Seeker's eyes. Such a blatant sign of captivity, yet brilliant in its simplicity. The slave cannot get it off on her own, not without special tools, and no one in this land would do it for her should she escape. She is stuck here.

The elf's physique suggests the wiry strength of those living off game and whatever else can be foraged in the woods, though it is clear the poor elf has  _not_  had enough to eat in quite some time. Weeks, more likely months. How had she come to be here? Why were there no others like her, of the Dalish clans? Why did the other elves despise her so?

So many questions that cannot be answered just yet. But the elf is not waking, allowing Solona to work uninterrupted. Cassandra can see the wounds upon her face now beginning to mend. Solona's job will be done soon, and then perhaps Cassandra can get some sleep. It will be tricky, when the girl wakes. Maybe… maybe she shouldn't sleep until they tried communicating with the elf?

She does not know the right answer, to any of these questions. She  _hates_  it when she does not know the right answer.

When Solona leaves, Cassandra strips, pulling on a sleeping shift and pulling the covers back on the ridiculously large bed. The elf stirs momentarily, but then she lies still, peaceful, her visage no longer marred by cuts as it falls still in the dim light from the candle. The Seeker stares for time uncounted, eyes roving over her face, her shoulders, lingering on the collar more times than she is willing to admit. Finally, she rolls over and blows out the candle.

She is captivated by the elf's face. It holds so much depth the Seeker can only guess at.

She hopes they can communicate with her on the morrow.

* * *

Something awakens her. She is not sure what it is, but years of wariness and sleeping light cause her eyes to snap open and take in her surroundings. She is in an utterly alien room, and yet it is also familiar. With that familiarity is a strong impression of a tall warrior, scars upon her visage. She is human.

_Why would I dream of a human warrior? Why is there warmth around her image?_

Another sound causes her head to snap to the side, and she sees elves, the flat-ears, bustling near a table. They do not see her. Of course they do not see her. They are flat-ears, unaccustomed to listening to every sound for details of the hunt, or of danger. They finish whatever they are doing at the table, moving to the walls and-

"Ah!" she exclaims, holding her eyes shut tight against the bright light now allowed in the room. They had been windows. Drapes were drawn. She thinks those are the correct words. They have only been words to her until now. The Dalish have no windows, no drapes. She desperately misses them.

A shout beside her. The bed shifts, causing her head to snap in that direction instead. Someone lies next to her in the bed, sitting up now, a look of alarm on her face as she brandishes a long, wicked-looking dagger, her head darting wildly, looking for the threat.

"What?" the elf yells, pushing herself away from the weapon. Where is she? Why is she in a bed next to a woman with a dagger?

Her thoughts are derailed when she runs out of bed to move across. She tumbles to the floor with a yelp, tangled in what she now realizes is a massive cloak covering her. She tries in vain to disentangle herself, the image of the knife firm in her mind. She remembers knives, fists, feet, all coming down to meet her body.

She doesn't hurt as much now as she did then. Was that only the day before?

Something is said she does not understand, but the voice is familiar. She realizes it is the warrior – the one who calmed her, cleaned her wounds, took her from the hateful mob and brought her to this room of luxury – just as the warrior's face appears over the edge of the bed. There are scars upon her face, just as the elf remembers, and concern etched into her brows.

It is still the only kind face the elf has seen since leaving her clan months before.

The elf allows the human to gather her up, still not understanding her words. Tone she can understand, however, and she almost smiles at such a tall, strong woman with rough, callused hands fussing like a wolf mother over her cubs.

She is placed back on the bed. The other elves, the flat-ears, are dismissed with an impatient wave from the warrior. Then they are alone, the two of them, the warrior standing tall in a light linen sleeping shift, the elf curled in the massive cloak upon the bed.

More words are said. The elf shakes her head. She likes the cadence of the woman's voice, the timbre of it. It is already associated with warmth and caring, with safety. Knowing the woman sleeps with a dagger to pull seems only to endear her to the elf.

_What is wrong with me?! A shem?_

_You are in a world of shem and flat-ears. Take what help and kindness you can get. Your clan will not save you here, lethallan._

The warrior gives a sigh, goes to the table, comes back with…

A  _feast._

The warrior holds a platter with all manner of food on it: fruits, breads, cheeses, olives, cold smoked meats, and other things the elf cannot even identify. The human places the platter in the elf's lap, placing next to it a wineskin. She says something else, and the elf somehow knows she is being invited to indulge in this lavish spread.

Her stomach rumbles with hunger. It feels as though she has not seen so much food in one place since her clan's celebration of the summer solstice. She goes for the wineskin first, taking a large drink. The wine is dry, stronger than she is accustomed to. But her throat is parched, and the drink sings a song of relief as it travels down her throat.

She doesn't notice the warrior leave her side, but she does notice the human return, now adorned in tunic and trousers, a tabard cinched into place with a weapons' belt. She wonders if the large eye in the middle of a sun emblazoned on the tabard means anything. She is sure it does, but she has no context.

The warrior gestures to her, palm up and out, a clear indication to stay put. The elf does not know why, but she agrees, nodding her head in what she knows is the universal sign for "yes." The human answers in kind, turning and exiting the room. The elf can only continue to eat. Fruit and cheese never tasted so good.

* * *

Cassandra knocks on Leliana's door. She has given them as much time as she can. Even still, she likely will either catch them naked and entangled in sleep, or actually in the act of their depraved sort of lovemaking.

_Relax, Cassandra, it was only one time you actually caught them. Leliana would not be so irresponsible on such an important mission as to sleep in or destroy the room with their… shenanigans._

To her surprise, the door opens on a well-lit, tidy room. Leliana and Solona are both seated at the table – dressed – breaking their own fast. Cassandra's stomach rumbles. Perhaps she should eat something, as well…

"Good morning," she says, striding into the room. "I trust you slept well?"

" _Very_ ," Leliana replies, casting a glance toward Solona.

Cassandra barely manages to keep from rolling her eyes. Really, one would think they would no longer rut like dogs in heat after so many years together.  _But you do admire their passion, Cassandra, so strong after so many years. It is just that you do not have a corresponding passion for anyone in your own life._

_Perhaps I should go to their bed again?_

_No. It was fun, but it lacked the feelings behind it that you seek, that they share with each other. You want more than fun._

_This is true._

"My ward is awake. I was hoping to try communicating with her as soon as possible. I was also hoping for clothing for her. Leliana, you are not so much bigger than she. Perhaps a pair of leggings, a plain shirt, just until I can have something found for her. I do not wish to draw more ire from the other slaves here, not before we get a chance to possibly speak with her."

"How is she?" the Left Hand asks after nodding her assent, genuine concern in her eyes. The Left Hand and Spymaster might be cold in all else, but with these two people currently in this room, her heart is open, and her manner is warm. She does have feelings, and feels them _passionately_ , but she must compartmentalize them if she is to survive the position she now occupies while serving their beloved Divine Justinia. She is willing to do much for their mentor. Cassandra knows the feeling well.

Cassandra's expression softens. "She is well, I think. She is breaking her fast as we speak. And from how she eats, it was  _quite_  a fast."

"Well, she's certainly had  _some_  food while she's been captive," Solona interjects. "That was not the body of someone starved. So that is something, at least."

"They feed them like dogs when they are on the road," Leliana murmurs, coming to stand next to Cassandra with the requested clothing items in her hands. "They just throw them food and let them fight it out. I would bet all the coin in my purse that she could not get to food often enough."

"I'm not willing to take that bet," Solona says with a momentary smirk, scrubbing a hand over her short hair. She then sighs, her expression turning serious as she pushes her chair back from the table. "Lead on, Seeker. Let us see if one of us knows a language this elf can understand."

Nodding, Cassandra turns, leading her companions down the hall and to her door. Giving a slight knock so as not to surprise the poor elf, she enters the room, her companions right on her heels. The door closes and the other two spread out, though Cassandra knows not what they do, for she has eyes only for her charge.

The elf still sits wrapped in the Seeker's cloak, though she no longer eats. Her eyes are wide with fear, darting from Leliana to Solona a few times before settling on Cassandra. The Seeker can hardly help it. She is hurrying to the bedside, trying to comfort the elf before she quite knows what she is doing.

"It is alright," she says, kneeling to be on a level with the elf. Somehow she knows the young woman trusts her. She has not yet tried to run, at least. "We are here to help you."

The elf shakes her head again, just once, indicating her lack of understanding. Cassandra huffs in frustration.

"Perhaps it is time to try?" Leliana suggests. She is keeping her distance, her inquisitive eyes on the elf, but her body language making it clear she means no harm. Placing a hand on her chest, she simply states her name. "Leliana."

The elf furrows her brow, glancing back to Cassandra. The Seeker imitates her counterpart. "Cassandra."

Solona walks closer, calling the elf's wide eyes to land on her. "Solona."

They all look to the young woman expectantly.

"Z- Zanneth."

Her voice is cool and rough, the lilting accent Cassandra has heard about, unique to the Dalish, swimming within that one word.  _Zanneth_. It is an interesting name. The Seeker has not heard its like.

She tries to say their names, but gets them wrong. But it is alright. They repeat them until the elf can say them confidently. Then the true challenge begins.

"Can you understand me?" Leliana asks in Orlesian.

The elf's – Zanneth's – head shakes, her expression regretful. They try Antivan, Ferelden, Rivaini, and even what few words of the elven language Solona knows. Still the young woman cannot understand them.

Then Cassandra tries the last language any of the three of them command. Leliana does not know it, nor does Solona.

"Can you understand me?" the Nevarran princess asks in her native tongue.

The elf perks up, her voice tentative as she responds, "Yes."

Cassandra sits back, absolutely shocked. "Nevarran? You hail from Nevarra?"

Leliana puts a hand on her shoulder. " _Elle vient de_ _ **Nevarra**_ _?!_ " Cassandra can only nod, unable to shake her shock.

" _Bien s_ _û_ _r_ ," Solona remarks, her voice dripping sarcasm. For once Cassandra does not shut her up. She is absolutely right. What kind of sense does that make? The Seeker was not even aware of Dalish clans in Nevarra.

The elf nods. "And you as well?"

The Seeker inwardly smirks. To tell a Dalish elf that she is technically Nevarran royalty, albeit very distant, would do no good.  _That is, at least, refreshing. The only person who would not even know to remark on my name_. "Yes. I am Cassandra Pentaghast. You are Zanneth…?"

"Of the Lavellan Clan," the elf supplies, leaning forward eagerly. "I have not spoken to anyone in months! This is… I do not even know what to say, and yet I would speak more, and hear more. Please."

"Alright. What would you know?" Cassandra asks.

"I…" Her eyes dart to the bard and the mage once more, distrust clear upon her face.

"Would you like some privacy, Zanneth?" The elf nods, eyes now on Cassandra.

The Seeker sighs, looks to her companions, speaking in Orlesian once more. "Our guest would like to speak with me in private."

Leliana's eyes flash, a smirk pulling at her lips. "Don't do anything we wouldn't do," she cautions, handing over the clothing she had brought for the elf.

Cassandra gives her a sardonic smile. "There is very little you wouldn't do, Leliana."

The bard's eyes twinkle. "I know, especially with such a pretty little thing with such provocative adornment at her throat," she says, turning, exaggerating the sway of her hips. Like a well-rehearsed dance, Solona is immediately behind her, hands straying to the bard's hips. Leliana's seductive giggle reverberates through the air as the two leave.

The Seeker sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face. The two of them are  _impossible_.

"They are lovers?"

Cassandra looks up quickly to see Zanneth's eyes on the door. "Yes, they are." Pausing, she holds out the clothes. "Leliana is only somewhat bigger than you are. She has donated these for your use, until we can find something better for you."

The elf's eyes move to the bundle of clothing. Taking it with a nod, she stands, utterly unselfconsciously letting the cloak fall. Cassandra stands and turns, her face suddenly burning. What she saw makes her want to look all the harder, and it confuses her. She already saw the young woman naked the night before! The curves of her body, her face framed by that collar, did nothing to call forth the desire within her. Why would it  _suddenly_  spark desire in her now, when before there was no such reaction?

She nearly jumps at the touch of a hand on her arm. Turning quickly, she sees the young elven woman standing there, coming just past Cassandra's chin. She is dressed, Leliana's tunic falling loosely from her shoulders. Her face with the red tattoos upon it is framed so intriguingly by that collar… Her hand still rests on the Seeker's arm; it feels as though her skin is on fire where they touch, despite the fabric between their skin.

"Thank you Cassandra," Zannath says, her eyes large as they look up at her.

Cassandra can only nod, turning and going to the table, trying to calm her suddenly wildly beating heart. "Come. We have… much to discuss."

* * *

"You know you are in captivity? That you are a slave?"

Zanneth merely nods her head. It had not taken long for her to figure that out on her own. Then the humans had put a collar around her throat, and the full gravity of her situation sank in. The collar will not come off, is there for all to see. The collar is a sign of her servitude even if she manages to get away.

"There is more. You… are their gift to me while I am their guest." The warrior's eyes darken, her expression growing guilty.

Her heart sinks. "I… am to serve you?" Of  _course_  this human isn't really here to help.  _You should not be so surprised, lethallan._ What kind of service will she require? Zanneth is not entirely stupid about such things.

"Yes, though it is not my first choice. I hope we can have a more equitable relationship than that when we are on our own. But… outside of this room, the farce must be maintained. I will not abuse you. You need only to… ugh, I hate the idea, but you must obey me outside this room, or if anyone other than Leliana and Solona are around. It is imperative. Do you understand?"

Zanneth is unsure. She does not wish to use the elf, but she must? "Why… why can you not take me away from here, if you disapprove of this practice of slavery?"

The warrior – Cassandra – sighs, looking away. "It is complicated. At its core, the reason is political. Suffice it to say that we will be here for weeks on an important errand. I cannot share more details than that."

"Does it have something to do with that symbol on your chest?" She does not know why she gravitates toward it, but she does. She wants to know what it means. Why is this one question so important to answer when so much else in her life is chaos?

The warrior's brows knit in confusion as she looks down upon her tabard. "I… yes, it does. Do you know the Eye of Truth?"

Zanneth shakes her head. "No, I do not. Should I?"

Cassandra sighs. "I suppose it is no surprise. You are Dalish, are you not?"

"Yes."

The human nods. "And you know little of the Chantry, if anything, correct?"

Zanneth's brows knit as she thinks. "I have heard stories, but…"

Cassandra nods again. "It is alright. You do not move in the world of humans. I understand." She pauses, seems to collect herself. Zanneth merely studies her as she does, admiring the line of her jaw, the way she bears her scars so proudly. She is all stoic strength, but there is a gentleness underneath that Zanneth finds herself utterly drawn to. "I am a Seeker of Truth. The Eye symbolizes this. Above that, I am the Right Hand of the Divine in Orlais. The Divine is our church's leader, for lack of a better way of explaining it. She guides us spiritually. And  _I_  do for her what she cannot do, go where she cannot go."

The cadence of the human's voice is captivating, delicious to hear.  _'Delicious' **is**  the word. I want to swallow it up, drink it down. What has come over me?_

Surely it is hero-worship only? She cannot deny that the warrior cuts a striking figure, but it is her face that Zanneth cannot stop gazing upon. The juxtaposition of her soft features with her hard expressions entrances the elf. The scars marring the human's visage serve only to intrigue her further.

But she cannot keep staring. She must say something. "I am afraid I do not fully understand…"

Cassandra nods. "I know. It is alright. Suffice it to say, while you are to 'serve' me while I am a guest here, you still belong to the Imperial Chantry of Tevinter. And for political reasons… you will  _continue_  to belong to the Imperial Chantry when we leave this place and go back to Orlais."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my shitty French. I had to run it through a translator, which I realize is, like, the worst way to come up with phrases in other languages. But saying "she said in Orlesian" over and over was getting old and gunking up my sentences, so I just put a few French lines in. Hopefully it's simple enough you don't even need a translator for it if you don't know any French.


	2. The Lusting

Cassandra walks down the hall. She left Zanneth in her rooms to rest and keep out of trouble, as has been their custom over the last few days. The Seeker has just attended a meeting. Why was it that peace and deals were negotiated largely through weeks of staying as a guest and doing nothing except attending to celebrations, rather than a few days of concentrated talks? Cassandra has not grown accustomed to it, no matter how long she has known the steps to this dance. Give her a sword and shield and she can wait out her enemy every time. Make her do this dance and her patience just gets shorter and shorter.

The meetings are pointless. The Imperial Chantry will not condemn blood magic. They will not even attempt to control those mages who are actively seeking the aid of demons, at risk of possession at any moment. The will not even  _hear_  arguments against the practice of slavery. It is _infuriating_! But she persists, because they knew this would happen. The true reason for being here is for Leliana to perform reconnaissance, so that they might, over time, counter all the harm Tevinter's Imperial Chantry has done by supporting the very things Andraste fought against.

Cassandra does not know how Leliana will use the information she obtains, but she has learned to trust their Spymaster. With the appropriate information and contacts, the woman can bring down empires with a mere whisper.

She pauses at the door to her suite. There is a sound coming from within…

Singing. Zanneth is singing. Cracking the door open, the Seeker peers inside. Zanneth sways, singing, and…

_Is she folding my laundry?_

She mostly sleeps when Cassandra is not there. She is supremely exhausted, and unwilling or unable to speak about the trials that brought her here. Zanneth was out hunting alone when she was captured – that is all Cassandra can get from her. Cassandra allows it, letting the elf rest and eat, get back her strength.

But today she is restless. She is done sleeping the day and night through. Now she needs something to do, as she is accustomed to spending the day through on the trail, killing food for her clan and bringing it back to them on her back. Zanneth had an idea that morning, wrapped up in the fact that she feels uncomfortable when the other slaves enter and she is doing nothing. If she is to fit in, then she should be doing _something_.

_"We should be seen in the bed together. Only a few clothes, if any, and-"_

_"What?!" Cassandra is shocked. What in all Thedas is Zanneth talking about?!_

_The elf's glare is lightly mocking. "I know you are not a simpleton, Cassandra. If you were to choose a slave to serve you exclusively while you are here, it was for the bedchamber. If they are to believe that is happening, then we should be found in compromising positions when the slaves enter in the mornings with food." She ignores a sputtering Cassandra as she continues, looking thoughtful now. "I should wear the more revealing robes of the other slaves. And I should bathe you in the evenings, at least until we know we are alone."_

The rest of that conversation had Cassandra a permanent shade of red. It had only happened that morning. Now Cassandra stands poised at the threshold of her rooms, Zanneth in the short robe and leggings that is the uniform of the slaves here. The curve of her hips is accentuated by the cinched belt at her waist, drawing the Seeker's eyes from the curve of her shoulder down to her surprisingly shapely rump. The leggings are loose on her legs, as the elf has not yet bulked up despite eating like a mabari these last few days. Even so, there is a hint of muscle. She has put on weight, just not enough. It makes her look healthier, vibrant in comparison to how the Seeker had found her.

After a moment too long, Zanneth turns, her song stopping abruptly as she catches Cassandra watching her. The Seeker's cheeks heat; the elf ducks her head abashedly.

Closing the door behind her, Cassandra moves closer, taking the shirt Zanneth had been folding. "You do not need to do these things, Zanneth. I-"

" _Own_  me for the duration of your stay here," the elf finishes for her, eyes determined as she holds the Seeker's gaze. "I must do work no matter where I am. If I stay here, in this room, with you, I must do work, or they will know you are not sincere. If they know you are not sincere here, as their guest, then they may suspect the sincerity of your mission here." She pauses, brows knitting. "And I still remember the stones and the fists and the yelling. I do not wish to rejoin them, nor to repeat that experience anytime soon."

Cassandra is struck by Zanneth's strength in her vulnerability. She wishes to reach out, to comfort the young woman somehow. She almost does so, moving so close that she can smell the elf's sweet breath. They hover like that for a moment… before her good sense takes control of her and she takes a step back, exhaling the breath she had not known she held. The space between them vibrates with tension, but the elf smiles, shy without being timid. She takes the shirt back from Cassandra and goes back to folding the clean laundry the other slaves have dropped off.

The Seeker retires to the window seat, deciding she will read until the daylight is no longer available. She is running out of ways to calm her raging blood.

* * *

"I did not get dirty this day; there was no sparring, no hiking, and it was not even warm enough to break out in a sweat. I do not see the purpose of bathing," the warrior huffs. Zanneth merely chuckles. The human is as stubborn as any male hunter of her clan; possibly even moreso.

She is free to answer, as the house slaves do not speak the language she and the Seeker share, but she holds her tongue. She knows her place here, is learning it more and more through observation, the culture lessons the three humans provide helping her to understand all that she sees. She is even beginning to pick up some language; apparently, Nevarran is not so different from both the languages of Antiva and Tevinter, when taking the accent into account. Something is mentioned about the geography of it, but Zanneth does not know of what they speak.

As the slaves fill the bath, Zanneth moves to Cassandra's side. They have not done this yet, only discussed it this morning, and her heart hammers in her throat to be so close to this human who rescued her. Catching the Seeker's eyes for only a moment, she reaches for the human's belt that cinches her tabard and tunic in place. Her hands shake as her fingers find the buckle. She did not think this would be so nerve-wracking. She can no longer deny the strong pull she experiences, the presence of the warrior intoxicating; Cassandra is solid, safe.

The belt is now undone, slipping from Cassandra's waist with ease. The elf is almost sad to see the lovely shape of the warrior's curves disappear as the tunic becomes shapeless. But it will be remedied momentarily. Her heart pounding so hard against her ribs that she is sure everyone must hear, Zanneth lifts the tunic and tabard, pulling them over Cassandra's head as the human ducks her head to allow it.

Revealed to her is cinnamon skin, dusted with scars and the barest hint of freckles. She reaches out to trace them, only to change the trajectory of her hand at the last moment. She cannot touch this woman with tenderness in front of the others filtering in and out with buckets of hot water. She sees Cassandra's hand lift, pausing halfway to Zanneth's face before faltering, falling to her side once more.

Her sensitive elven ears detect the note of frustration in Cassandra's next exhale. The thought makes her heart pound all the harder.

Her redirected hands fall on the Seeker's breast band, undoing the fastenings under her breasts and dragging the cloth away. Beautiful, bountiful breasts, heavy with their bulk, come free, spilling forth and nearly  _begging_  Zanneth to stare, to touch, to drink of their wealth. Her knees are momentarily weak. The cloth of the breast band is warm. Cassandra's scent – leather, wood, steel, and cinnamon spice – clings to it, wafting over her in intoxicating waves.

The cloth falls to the floor, her fingers now seeking the ties to the Seeker's trousers. She deftly undoes them, and they slide over narrow hips, falling to the floor and leaving shapely, muscled legs in their wake. Eyes traveling up, Zanneth notes that the Seeker does not wear anything beneath her trousers. At the juncture of her legs is a tick thatch of wiry hair, so unlike the elf's own. She must rip her eyes away, but they are caught by the line of the warrior's waist, leading up to heavy breasts that look every bit as enticing as they did when first revealed, up further to eyes so dark with desire that the elf's breath hitches in her chest.

_She desires me. There is no mistaking that look._

"And now you," the warrior murmurs, reaching for her. Zanneth's eyes widen in alarm, but before she can get any words out the tie to her robe is gone, and then the robe is gone, and she is standing only in leggings, her small breasts bare to the chilly air. She feels her nipples harden almost painfully.

A hand is at her throat then, fingering the collar she wears almost possessively as the other hand roughly pulls at her leggings. But when she looks up all she sees are those warm brown eyes.

This is an act.

That thought is what finally pushes her to the height of desire. The area between her legs pulses, growing immediately damp, and she shivers as the hand is dragged roughly from her throat to her hip, fingers digging into her flesh along the way. The other elves leave the room.

They are alone.

Cassandra immediately backs away and turns. "I am sorry," is all she says before lowering herself to her knees. "I…"

Zanneth rushes forward, unable to keep from placing her hands on the warrior's shoulders, to comfort, to alleviate guilt, to simply be close and _touch_  this remarkable human. "There is nothing to forgive, Cassandra. They believe. You have made them believe."

"It was not  _all_ …" She trails off, burying her face in her hands.

"Come," Zanneth says, moving around the Seeker and holding out her hands. "The warm water will soothe and relax you. I will bathe when you are through."

Reluctantly the warrior takes her hands, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. Zanneth turns, picking her robe up off the floor and going to tidy what few things need it. She is sure now that Cassandra's desire matches her own, but she does not know how or where to go from here. And it does not mean the warrior will  _allow_  herself her own desire.

* * *

Zanneth lies on her back, naked. Cassandra's eyes travel along the curves of her body in the firelight: the creamy thighs dipping down to the sparse hair at her sex; the slight swell of her belly and hips leading up to small, perky breasts; lips barely parted as the elf sleeps. The Seeker cannot help but stare, desperately wishing to reach out and caress, but knowing she should not. She will not take advantage of her power over this young woman in this place. Andraste marched against Tevinter in part to end slavery, and Cassandra will not now betray that in order to slake her lust.

She cannot, however, tear her eyes away from the sight before her, right next to her, naked in her bed. So close. So easy to reach out and touch…

"No, Cassandra, you cannot," she whispers aloud, pulling her hand back.  _What is it about this elf? Does my power over this woman truly appeal to me so? Her body is lovely, yes. But it is more than that. Those eyes as she looks up at me, the trust in her expression, the smile upon her lips. She is beautiful. She cares for me._

_And I think I care for her._

But does she truly care for the elf? Her lust is clouding her mind, confusing her feelings. And what do her feelings matter now, anyway? She has a duty, to the Chantry, to Divine Justinia, to her faith and the people harmed here by Tevinter's farce of a "Chantry." These things are what matter. This confusion she is feeling… it will pass.

She simply must make it through until it does.

Cassandra studies Zanneth further, still unable to sleep. The elf's face is beautiful. The  _vallaslin_ , as the elves call their facial tattoos, arc over her high cheekbones, up over her forehead, and down over her chin. It must have hurt to get them, despite their beauty and artistry. Did she receive magical healing?

Suddenly she realizes Zanneth's eyes are open, looking at her.

"Zanneth?" she whispers.

The eyes blink once, twice, and then the elf moves, rolling closer until her face is within inches of the Seeker's. Cassandra feels her heart speed, hammering into her chest as the elf's breath washes over her. She wants desperately to kiss her, to lay hands on her, to push and pull and squeeze, to consume this small woman…

She mustn't. Reining in her desire, Cassandra rolls onto her back, putting distance between them. She feels more than sees the elf turn again. Surely she imagines this air of disappointment that suddenly descends? The blanket moves, and when Cassandra peeks over once more, the thin sheet has been drawn up over Zanneth's shoulder. The elf faces away from her, making her heart drop into her gut.

She cannot help but feel that, rather than averting disaster, she has squandered a golden opportunity for something wonderful.

Sleep never does come, not truly.

* * *

Zanneth wakes to rustling. Opening her eyes, she finds the drapes have been drawn, but it is barely dawn. Blinking, sitting up, she sees Cassandra at the armoire, rummaging amongst her few things. Like any good warrior, all of the human's possessions brought on this trip are functional. There is no room for sentiment for the warrior, and the items of greatest value are her weapons. She cares for them every night even though her sword has not been drawn except to be oiled since arriving here.

So what is she rummaging for?

The human turns, her dark eyes landing on the elf. "I am sorry. I had not planned to wake you for several minutes yet."

"I… it's alright," Zanneth replies, wondering if she dreamt that moment last night. That moment when she awoke, completely bare, her body on display and the human drinking it in with her eyes. That moment when she took the plunge and got so very close… only for Cassandra to move away. Had she dreamt it? She does not know.

The warrior speaks from across the room once more. "I know you have complained of restlessness, and I admit I am eager to  _move_. I tire of being indoors, and I tire of filling my time  _only_  with intellectual pursuits. You are accustomed to spending your days hunting, yes? We are on an estate with hunting grounds. I thought perhaps you could accompany myself and my companions on a hunt? I… cannot give you weapons, but simply being out and-"

"Yes!" Zanneth interjects, unable to keep the smile from her face. She understands they will still be on the grounds of her captors, still be subject to the laws of this land. She will not be free. But she will be able to  _move_. While she has appreciated the time to recover, Zanneth is now as rested as she can be. She has been feeling more restless than she ever has in her life. If she could just climb a tree, go running in the woods barefoot, or even just  _look_  at a wild thing with no walls around her…

Cassandra's face brightens with her smile. It makes the elf's heart pound. "I am glad you like the idea. It is too bad I cannot give you a weapon – Leliana is an excellent archer, but I would wager you would put her to shame. The Dalish's skills with a bow are legendary."

Inexplicably, Zanneth feels her face flush. She had never,  _ever_  expected,  _in her life_ , to hear her people's skills lauded. And by a  _shemlen_?

She opens her mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the door opening. In walks a flat-ear with a platter of food. The man's eyes flicker to Zanneth, a faint scowl darkening his features as he takes in Zanneth's appearance, naked and tangled in the sheets. What is it about her that angers these elves? What would make them attack her as they did? It was the only thing on her mind during the attack. It was a question asked once or twice by Cassandra. Zanneth has no answer, for herself or the human.

The elven man's stare makes her wrap the sheet more tightly about her, dragging it up from where it had almost been exposing her breasts. Her face colors for entirely different reasons from before. She does not like being under the man's gaze. It makes her feel filthy. He thinks so little of her. It is clear in his eyes.

He leaves quickly, Cassandra barely lifting a hand to dismiss him. But Zanneth can see the scowl on the human's features. The Seeker did not miss how that slave had looked upon the Dalish elf, the contempt in his gaze, the twitching of his fingers, as though he had wished to attack her once more. Cassandra's eyes are on Zanneth now, but the elf can only meet the human's gaze for a moment before she lowers her eyes. She still feels filthy. She is merely a slave here. This human does not value her as a person. She was stupid to think there could be more. Whether she dreamt it or not, last night made it clear enough: she is not good enough.

She is not sure if the voice refuting that is overly hopeful, or not loud enough.

She exits the bed, pulling on her robe and leggings, leaving her feet bare as is her preference. She is no longer sure that she is something that the warrior might desire.

She misses the regret in the warrior's eyes as she goes to the corner to use the chamber pot.

* * *

" _Merde_."

Cassandra smirks. Leliana has missed her target and is swearing because of it. She is nervous. She hasn't actually had to hunt in  _years_  and is rather out of practice. Add to that the fact she has an actual Dalish huntress watching, and the former bard is jittery. Cassandra knows her well, knows all the various stances she takes; the Seeker recognizes the nerves now present in her shoulders, in the way Leliana tosses her head even though her hair is secured in a tight braid.

"She only needs stop shaking so, and she would have gotten the kill," Zanneth murmurs.

"Yes, well, she is nervous," Cassandra responds, low and quiet.

"What is making her nervous?"

Cassandra smiles, looking down and to her right to where the elf squats in the murky shadows of the woods. "You."

The elf's expression is comical, but she cannot comment on it, as Leliana turns then, stomping through the brush toward their camp, unconcerned about the noise she is making in her frustration.

"There will be no living with her after this," Solona muses in Orlesian, causing Cassandra to whisper out a laugh. Then the mage is following after her lover, leaving Cassandra and Zanneth alone in the thick stand of trees they have taken refuge behind.

"Come," Cassandra says in Nevarran, standing and holding out her hand for the elf. "Let us retrieve Sister Nightingale's arrow. I'm sure it is undamaged."

The elf takes her hand, and then they are on their feet, walking through the trees, unconcerned with the noise they are making. She smiles as Zanneth runs ahead of her. It is a chilly day, but nothing like it is in Orlais or Ferelden right now: there is no snow upon the ground, merely a stiff, chilly breeze blowing constantly. The elf is in her prime here, running and jumping over rocks and fallen trees. She has already climbed three trees, higher than any grown human would be able to climb. She is happy. It puts  _such_  a look of joy on her face.

Cassandra would see that look on her face more.

The elf turns, a triumphant cry escaping her lips, arrow held above her head. Her large eyes sparkle, and Cassandra cannot help but to smile indulgently. It is entirely unlike her. This small elven woman pulls out so many things that are so unlike her, testing her self-control at every turn.

But as she watches the elf start to trot back to her, she realizes that something is not right. She hears something…

"Zanneth?"

"Cassandra?"

"Do you hear that?"

The elf stops, tilting her head to the side. Then the blood drains from her face. "Cassandra," she whispers, eyes wide, body suddenly singing with tension. "Run!"

Cassandra pulls her sword, the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright as a boar comes crashing through the brush. Inexplicably spooked, it grunts and snorts, nearly howling as it heads straight for Zanneth.

"No!" Cassandra cries, running forward. But the elf is fast. She bolts for a tree, taking a running leap for the nearest branch. She catches it, hauling herself out of reach of the boar's tusks. But now Cassandra is on the ground with the animal, and it is angry, and it rounds, setting its sights on the Seeker.

Knowing Zanneth is safe lightens the Seeker's heart, and she faces her foe with a determined focus. She has taken down dragons. This boar is almost no concern in comparison. Not even bothering with her shield, the warrior centers herself on the balls of her feet, lunging to the left just as the beast is about to hit her. Whirling in a practiced motion, she lashes out with her sword, taking the animal in the rump. It squeals, trying to turn. But it is hampered by the wound, hitting the ground and rolling onto its side. It is barely an effort to bring her sword down again, a victorious cry escaping her lips as her weapon slices through its throat.

Its death cry still hanging in the air, Cassandra wheels around, eyes casting about for her companion. "Zanneth!"

The elf drops down in front of her, seeming to appear from the very air. Cassandra drops her sword, taking the elf's face with both hands. She is whole, she is safe, she is undamaged. Without thinking, the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the Seeker leans forward, covering Zanneth's lips with her own, cradling that beautiful face in both hands.

Then she realizes what she is doing and releases her hold, her heart hammering in panic. "I'm sorry I-"

She is not allowed to finish. The elf's fingers are tangling in her hair, pulling her face down, her head shaking quickly in the negative before their lips touch once more. Cassandra cannot control herself any longer. No one is here. Zanneth wants her. Cassandra wants Zanneth. She wraps her arms around the young woman's slight frame, breathing in the elf's scent, her heart speeding up as she feels and breathes and smells all the things that have been preoccupying her attention for the last several days.

Finally the need for breath causes them to part. They pant, breathing each other's air, foreheads touching as they catch their breaths.

"So I did not dream it?" Zanneth says at last.

"What?"

"Last night. You were looking at me, and I…"

Cassandra's heart falls through her stomach. "No. I couldn't sleep and I… I  _greatly_  desire you, Zanneth. I am ashamed. I should not take advantage…"

"Do not be ashamed, Cassandra," the elf breathes. "I thought I was not good enough. But no. It is your beautiful, stubborn adherence to your principles." She sounds relieved.

"I do not condone your captivity, Zanneth. I will not take advantage of it. I do not own you. You are not a thing to be possessed."

"But Cassandra," the elf breathes, eyes large as she looks up into the Seeker's face. "I very much want to be possessed, if it is by  _you_."

Something breaks in Cassandra then. The rest of her self-control, which she is hanging onto by her fingernails, melts away. With a slight growl, she captures the elf's lips once more, lifting her bodily from the ground and carrying her away from the site of the attack. Zanneth tries to yelp her surprise, but Cassandra swallows it. She plunges her tongue into the elf's mouth, finally drinking that taste she can smell whenever the smaller woman draws near. It is intoxicating. She must have more.

She stops at a large oak tree. Its trunk is broad, offering shelter from the stiff breeze. She places Zanneth on her feet, her hands immediately finding the tie of the robe and pulling it loose. Creamy skin – far from perfect, dotted with scars from a life in the forest – is exposed. She pulls back, looking down upon the feast that is presented to her. Her hands immediately cup the small breasts, thumb flicking a nipple, her lips descending down along the curve of the elf's throat.

"Cassandra, oh… ah!" Zanneth gasps, her hands seeking purchase on the leather armor the Seeker wears. Her chest heaves, those breasts pushing into Cassandra's hands, her pulse thundering under the human's lips. It is all Cassandra can do to keep from biting down hard enough to draw blood. She does bite down, though, finding the elf's pulse-point and suckling there, drawing all sorts of delicious sounds from the small woman in her arms.

Relinquishing her hold with her mouth, she moves further down, nipping and kissing pale skin, finally darting her tongue out when she gets to the elf's breast. Zanneth tries to move, but Cassandra takes hold of both her hips, pinning her to the tree with another growl, and the elf melts, becoming elastic in her hands. Holding her still, Cassandra circles one nipple with her tongue, drawing a line to the other and circling that, before abandoning them altogether to move lower.

"You tease so," Zanneth breathes. She has given up on trying to remove Cassandra's clothing and holds desperately to the warrior's hair instead. Her nails scratch over the Seeker's scalp, setting the human's blood on fire.

Cassandra does not answer. She knows she is teasing. That is the point. This young woman has given herself to be used as the warrior pleases, and the warrior wishes to leave her wanting oh so much more. So she moves her mouth lower, fingers searching for the ties to the elf's leggings. Finding them, she nearly rips them, finally getting them loose before yanking them down over Zanneth's hips.

The Seeker is on her knees now. Paying tribute to her goddess, drawing mewls and pleas from those beautiful red lips, tattooed the same as her _vallaslin_. Before her is soft, downy hair, black as the hair upon the elf's head but shorter, sparser, lying flat, rather than the thick, wiry thatch of hair most humans possess. It allows a glimpse of the detail of the elf's sex, and it drives Cassandra  _wild_  once more with desire. Peeling Zanneth's leggings down around her ankles, the Seeker lunges forward, seeking entrance to those delicate folds, puckered and swollen, glistening with desire.

Zanneth cries out, her grip in the Seeker's hair tightening so that she does not fall over. Her hips try to buck, but Cassandra reaches up again, strong hands holding each hip and pushing against the tree trunk, keeping the smaller woman still so that she can do as she pleases. She laps with her tongue, tasting that nectar, that heady-scented taste emanating from the elf's very center. She feels the bud of nerves, erect, almost straining to meet Cassandra's tongue. It makes her blood pound all the harder, coating her own center with slick arousal.

"By the Creators, Cassandra, I never… never…"

The Right Hand of the Divine never hears what the elf has never. A few particularly hard thrusts with her tongue, and Zanneth stiffens, her grip becoming painfully tight in the Seeker's short hair. Cassandra hums her approval as a veritable flood of the elf's fluids rush out. She thoroughly laps it up, savoring the flavor of this woman who has been the untouchable focus of her desire day and night.

Finally, the elf relaxes, her whole body trembling. Giving her one last lick, Cassandra smirks as Zanneth almost laughs, crying out that it is too much. "No more, please, no more."

"I hope I can have you calling for more, rather than no more, before the day is out," Cassandra murmurs, loosening her hold on the elf's hips.

"Creators," Zanneth murmurs, cupping Cassandra's face in both her small hands. "I think I will have bruises on my hips. You beautiful creature, you." She leans over, kissing the Seeker deeply, whimpering at her own taste on the warrior's lips. She laps it up, greedy little mewls escaping her lips, setting the warrior's sex pounding with arousal.

But her lust is temporarily sated. She wanted to possess the elf, to own her, devour her, and she has. Despite receiving no stimulation of her own, it is enough, for now.

Now, Cassandra wishes to nurture, to comfort. Pulling away from the kiss, she pulls the elf's leggings back up before finding her feet. She allows Zanneth to compose her clothing once more before taking the smaller woman into her arms. The elf buries her face in the warrior's chest, pleasantly warm and malleable in the human's arms. Cassandra leans down, kissing the top of her head and breathing in through her hair, taking in that intoxicating scent.

This feels good. This feels right.

"Cassandra," Zanneth murmurs. The warrior can feel the elf's voice vibrate through her chest. "That was… thank you."

"Thank  _you_ ," Cassandra counters. "For trusting me. I…"

She shouldn't say it. But she can think it.

_I am not leaving you here. I am taking you away from this place._


	3. The Lusting II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things. First, a reviewer pointed out that Nevarran equates to German. Meaning my assertion that it is similar to Antivan (Spanish) is false. Thank you, reader. I appreciate that kind of detail. However, since I already went there, I'm just gonna keep it. Is all fake anyway. And is AU. We can all pretend, yes?
> 
> Second, I did some altering of Cassandra's history near the end (regarding Galyan) because in this AU the mage rebellion and Inquisition never happened.
> 
> Third, I kept noticing tense issues while I re-read. I think this is because I was also doing some writing on That Which Matters Most today, which is in past-tense, while this piece is in present-tense. The going back and forth is messing with me big time. So please bear with me. I think I caught all the mistakes.

Zanneth wakes to a dark tent. Immediately images from before sleep wash over her, and her cheeks heat. They agreed to keep their coupling a secret from Leliana and Solona for the moment, and so she spent the evening feeling the Seeker determinedly  _not_  looking at her. She watched the other three clean and gut the boar, eyes not really on the work, only on Cassandra. While she watched she remembered the warrior pulling her clothing from her, kissing and biting and sucking at her skin, as if her body were the warrior's to claim – which it was. Zanneth willingly surrendered herself to be claimed by her rescuer.

After they ate, she retired, feigning exhaustion from their ordeal. She stripped naked, taking refuge under the furs they brought along to combat the cold night. Cassandra joined her a short time later, making some excuse to her compatriots in Orlesian the elf could not understand.

_"Zanneth?"_

_In answer the elf merely moves the furs aside, allowing the warrior to see what she has waiting for her in the dim, orange firelight coming through the canvas. She hears the sharp intake of breath, sees the warrior's silhouette stiffen, and then Cassandra is on her._

She reached climax three more times, each one with the warrior plunging deep inside of her. Zanneth gave herself, and the warrior consumed her again and again – with Zanneth's whispered encouragement. She loves it. Cassandra is solid and safe, consuming while leaving her whole, if exhausted. Zanneth meant to reciprocate, but she must have fallen asleep after the last time, because now she is awakening.

The images and sensations, the memory of Cassandra's breath whispering over her skin as she kissed her way from lips to breasts and then on to the elf's sex, nearly overwhelm her. She lets out a sigh, turning her head to look upon the person she is so enamored of.

There is movement. Now that she sees it, she hears a rustling sound. The Seeker's breath is fast, coming out in little pants. Concentrating, she realizes that Cassandra is taking care of herself. The elf fell asleep, utterly boneless and exhausted, before she could even remove the warrior's clothing.

_This will not do. Cassandra gives so much of herself. I never see her take. Even when she takes of me, she gives. I would do the same for her._

Slowly, whisper-quiet, Zanneth moves her hand, smoothly gliding it over Cassandra's hip toward the opening to her trousers.

Cassandra immediately stiffens. "What are you-?"

"Shhhh, Cassandra," Zanneth whispers, continuing her movements before the warrior can stop her. "This is mine." She meant to say either "This is my job" or "This is mine to do" but got stuck trying to say both. She does not correct herself. It is apt.

"I… don't…" Cassandra bites off the quietest of moans as Zanneth's hand gently moves hers aside, sliding through thick hair into slick folds of delicate flesh. Her heart hammers into her ribs upon feeling the Seeker's most delicate place. She purrs into the warrior's neck.

"You are  _exquisite_ ," she croons, nipping at her earlobe.

"Zanneth… I… Maker I am so close already…"

The elf smiles, but her voice pouts. "You've taken all the fun from me. Wicked  _shem_."

Cassandra merely moans softly once more. Zanneth focuses on what she is doing. Her fingers slide over silken folds, and then she feels the swollen, erect bud near the top that will, for a short time, be the center of the Seeker's existence. She sets to task, rubbing softly in tiny circles, marveling at how soft and smooth this hard warrior is underneath all the armor.

"Zanneth, I'm going to…"

"Look at me, Cassandra," Zanneth instructs. She feels the Seeker's hot breath suddenly wash over her face, and just as the warrior's body begins to buck they are kissing. Zanneth swallows the noise Cassandra tries to make, her body humming, alive, singing with arousal and with the immense pleasure that comes from being the one to bring forth this rare change in the Seeker. They have only known each other a few days, but they have spent all their time together – indeed, she is the only one the elf can even speak with – and Zanneth has learned just how tightly Cassandra has control of herself.  _She_  is the one who has melted it away. It makes her sing with a pleasant sort of smug joy she has never before experienced.

The warrior's body calms, but her kiss intensifies, deepens. Cassandra rolls over until she is nearly on top of the elf once more, kissing her with deep, languid kisses.

Finally Zanneth pulls back, seeking the shine of the sparse light reflecting off of Cassandra's eyes. "Shhhh, my warrior," she soothes, guiding the panting woman to rest upon her shoulder. Cassandra acquiesces, nuzzling in, kissing the same spot time and again as she catches her breath. "I will still be here in the morning."

Those strong arms wrap around her, and before long, the Seeker's breathing calms, her breaths lengthening, until it is clear she is asleep. Zanneth's heart soars to hold such a large, powerful, formidable woman in her arms, sleeping soundly, feeling safe. Sleep comes quickly for her.

* * *

They make love in the morning. It is less frenzied, neither of them as frantic as the day before. They take the time to explore, to take breaks to simply kiss. And kiss. And kiss some more.

Truly Cassandra is not sure she will ever become accustomed to the taste of Zanneth's mouth, her tongue, her sweet, sweet red lips.

But after a time they merely lie together, bared flesh draped over one another in the mid-morning light filtering through the canvas. Zanneth's head is pillowed upon Cassandra's breast, the white, scarred hair on perfect display to the Seeker.

Looking more closely – the first time she is able to do so – Cassandra sees the expected scar starting upon the elf's cheek and disappearing into her hairline. It does not look old.

"What is this scar from, Zanneth?"

"Hmmm?" The elf's head comes up, eyes hooded in the pleasant haze of their post-coital bliss. "It is… unpleasant. I fear it will anger you."

Cassandra frowns slightly. "Still, I would hear it."

Zanneth sighs. "It happened when I was captured. I was… struggling. I couldn't understand them, I didn't know what they wanted; I just wanted to get away from the  _shems_. A knife was pulled. I struggled harder, but it was already next to my face. I… it will upset you, Cassandra."

"Just tell me," Cassandra huffs.

"I… the man tried to cut off my ear, had it fisted painfully in his hand. Oh, how I howled with pain. The other stopped him, tied my hands, bandaged me. It scarred my face." She pauses, her fingers tracing the line of the scar. "And, I learned once you saved me and I could look in a mirror, my hair turned white. I suppose it makes sense. The knife went deep and pulled while inside before he was stopped. It partially scalped-"

Cassandra doesn't let her finish. Instead she tightens her hold, pulling the elf tighter into the crook of her arm. She kisses her hair. "You were right."

"Oh?" Cassandra feels the smaller woman's voice reverberate against her breast.

"I am angry."

A chuckle. "I told you."

"I suppose there is nothing I can do about it? Perhaps knock the man on his backside and threaten him with my sword? Cut off part of his ear?"

The elf shakes her head, giggling. "He is not here, Cassandra."

The Seeker sighs. "Very well. I will have to be satisfied with knowing that you are safe here, now." She loosens her hold, watching as she draws a finger over the scar and into the elf's hair, feeling the obvious scarring on the scalp that cannot be seen. "It must have been very painful."

Zanneth sighs, shivers. "Yes. But it was fleeting." Suddenly, she springs up, hauling herself atop the Seeker, straddling her hips as she leans over the warrior. "It would feel far worse if you were to never touch me again, however."

Then they are kissing, losing themselves to each other once more.

* * *

She finally emerges around midday, starving.

"Good of you to join us, Seeker."

Cassandra looks up as she steps out of the tent to find Solona sitting at the firepit, oiling her sword. Leliana is nowhere to be seen. "Us? I see only you, Warden."

"Touché." Solona rests her sword across her knees, looking up to Cassandra as the warrior turns from closing the tent flaps. "I heard some interesting things last night."

Cassandra's cheeks immediately heat. She was so preoccupied by her newfound lover that she completely and utterly failed to keep either of them all that quiet. "Oh?"

The Warden smirks. "I am glad the two of you have finally removed your heads from your asses and realized your attraction. Because it was clear to anyone with  _eyes_."

The Seeker rolls her eyes. "I do not see how it is any of your business-"

A snort interrupts her. "Don't play that one with me. You tease me but I can't tease you back?" Shaking her head, the mage then smiles. "It sounded like a great deal of fun. I'm happy for you, truly. But…"

Cassandra stiffens, standing up straight from where she had been checking the stew pot. "But what?"

Solona sighs. "You are a passionate person, Cassandra. Will you be able to leave her when it is time to go back to Orlais?"

"I…"

"Ah, there you are, Cassandra. I trust you had a good night? Where is our elven friend?"

The Seeker turns to see Leliana emerging from the woods, her bow at her back and several rabbits at her belt. She has apparently been hunting, away from the others and their distractions. Cassandra cannot blame her.

"She is sleeping," Cassandra says flatly, eyes traveling back to Solona. The Warden merely holds her gaze, serious, an expression Cassandra rarely sees.

"I see…" Leliana gives her a knowing look, but, unlike Solona, does not press the issue here. The Seeker knows the bard well, however; she knows a talk is coming. And from the look on her face, it will be right about… "Come to the stream with me? Help me clean these hares?"

Cassandra's heart skips a beat. She is about to be lectured. She does not appreciate being treated like a child, but at the same time she respects Leliana a great deal. The woman knows what she is doing, and more often than not she expresses a wisdom that is beyond her years. She speaks of Wynne, the Senior Enchanter who perished during the Blight, with love and respect. Perhaps her advice and wisdom is based upon the words of that woman? Cassandra knows she is more a mother-figure than anyone else the bard had in her life before that.

"Yes, alright," Cassandra agrees, taking off toward the stream. She can eat when they're done. If she is to be lectured, then she would have it over with as soon as possible.

They walk to the stream in silence. Upon arrival, they roll back their sleeves, each pulling a hunting knife from their belts and setting to work.

"We heard your lovemaking last night," Leliana begins. Cassandra can almost  _feel_  the other woman's raised eyebrow, her smirk, as she adds, " _And_  this morning."

Cassandra glances up – yes, there is the smirk – then back down. "So frank, Leliana. Are your Warden and I finally having an effect on you?"

"Do not deflect, Cassandra. You do not do it well." Pausing to pull the rabbit's guts from its body, the bard continues. "I do not think this is a bad thing, Cassandra, but I would warn you once more than she is to stay here. They cannot think we are here to be subversive in any way. We cannot free their slaves, we cannot openly disparage their way of life; we can only argue the finer points of the Chant of Light. We may appear as guests, but we are only a hairsbreadth away from being hostages. It is not worth it, Cassandra, not for a dalliance with an elven slave."

The Seeker pauses her work, hands bloodied, half the skin pulled from the hare. "I do not understand how my choice to dally with an elf while I am here – a gift that was given to me and is indeed  _expected_  of me to take advantage of – will compromise us in any way. If it does anything, it will only  _strengthen_  our ruse."

Leliana just smiles indulgently. It is infuriating, her patience, her refusal to  _ever_  rise in defense or anger. "I know you well, Cassandra. You are a woman of passion, romantic beyond the scope of even the woman in whose heart I make my home. You do not simply have sex with no passion, no feeling, mixed in. You want this woman because you feel for her. But what of  _her_? It has only been a handful of days, and you are a human, one with her captors, and in a position of supreme authority over her, to boot."

"What are you saying? Speak plainly."

Leliana's expression grows serious. "What if her feelings are not genuine? What if she is taking advantage of you, Cassandra?"

"What?! How would she be taking advantage of  _me_?" Here she was worried  _she_  was taking advantage of the poor slave! It was preposterous.

"Think about it, Cassandra. If she gets you to love her, with your beautiful sense of justice… it would be the perfect way to win her freedom. She cares not for our mission; she would have an agenda of her own. And I cannot fault her that."

Cassandra is quiet. She does not know what to think. The elf desires her… doesn't she? What if it  _is_  an act? She is a Seeker of Truth, but she did admit to herself that her lust was clouding her judgment. These two sentences uttered by the Divine's Left Hand have completely shaken her, in the span of three seconds.

Reaching over, Leliana takes the now-abandoned hare from Cassandra's hands. "I will finish this. Why don't you wash up and wake your lover? We have quite a walk ahead of us, and with the remnants of a boar to carry, at that."

Nodding absently, Cassandra washes her hands and replaces her gloves. Then she walks back to camp, surrounded in a haze of doubt.

* * *

Zanneth swims to the surface as Cassandra is leaving.

"Cass…?"

"Shh, it is alright, Zanneth. You sleep. I will be back soon."

Nodding, the elf allows the furs, Cassandra's warmth and scent still clinging to them, to lull her back into a doze. But she cannot actually sleep. It has been far too long since she relieved herself, and now that need is winning in the war against sleep. Resigning herself to being able to wait for Cassandra's return, Zanneth finally relents, getting out of Cassandra's bedroll and sliding on her leggings and robe. They feel strange. It seems like days since she has worn them.

She exits the tent to see the dark-skinned giant of a mage sitting at the fire, oiling her sword. The human has an interesting look to her: tall, dark skin, pure-white hair and eyebrows. The thing that Zanneth finds most interesting, however, is the purple tattoo upon her face. The elf wants to ask if it is like the  _vallaslin_  of her people, but she has been unable to do so thus far because of their language barrier.

The mage looks up as Zanneth emerges, smiling and speaking a greeting in Antivan, the language they had all been working to teach the elf a little of. But as Cassandra was the only one who spoke both languages, most of her lessons and practice had fallen to the Seeker. Zanneth loves watching the warrior speak either language. She loves the utter focus Cassandra possesses. She loves her lips, the shapes they make…  _The sounds that issue forth from them…_

A shiver travels down her spine, and it is with great effort that Zanneth pulls her attention back to the mage, Solona. She calls her own greeting but does not join her at the fire. Instead, she disappears into the trees behind her tent, relieving herself with a sigh of contentment. It occurs to her that she could easily just slip away from the humans, run, but she knows it will do her no good. She wears a collar about her neck that she _cannot_  pull off, she has no weapons or supplies, and she is on someone's private grounds. She would not make it far.

Besides that – and perhaps more importantly, she realizes with a bit of a shock – she cannot stand the thought of leaving Cassandra like that, with no warning, no conversation. Zanneth feels for her, things she never thought she would feel for a  _shem_. She does not yet know what these things are, other than positive, affectionate, but she would see them through. Perhaps… perhaps she can continue to learn the language, and persuade them to find a way to free her? Surely they cannot be so heartless as to leave her here with the flat-ears, who would attack her for reasons still unknown? And in captivity, no less?

As she re-secures her leggings, her stomach rumbles fiercely, informing her that it will not be neglected any longer. Shaking her head at how the most basic of needs trump lofty thoughts, she moves back into the clearing around the fire. Well, not the fire, but the firepit. She and Cassandra slept very late; there is no longer a fire burning there.

"Food?" Zanneth asks, not sure enough in her grasp of Antivan to add more words to the request.

Solona smiles, nodding her answer as she finds her feet. "Sit. I will get it."

Zanneth nods, sitting not far from where the mage had been seated. "Thank you." The stew smells amazing. She sets to with gusto.

"Congratulations."

Zanneth stops with her spoon halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"You. Cassandra." Solona says something else, but Zanneth shakes her head to indicate she does not understand. The mage smiles, points to the tent the elf just vacated, and waggles her eyebrows. Realization hits Zanneth, and she feels her pale skin immediately flush from her chest all the way up to the tips of her ears. The mage just laughs. "No shame! Happy!  _I'm_  happy for you."

Zanneth can feel a smile pulling at her lips despite her embarrassment. She is rather pleased with herself, after all. She ducks her head, going back to her meal. She does not say anything further.

Cassandra returns only a handful of minutes later. She seems… distracted. She does not seek out Zanneth's gaze the way the elf seeks out hers. Instead she speaks with Solona, who nods, sheaths her sword, and disappears inside the tent she shared with Leliana the previous night.

"Cassandra?"

The human turns, dark eyes finally lifting to meet her own. "We need to pack our things so that we may leave."

"Alright," Zanneth agrees, holding her bowl out. "Have you eaten? Surely you are starving."

"I… am not hungry. Thank you." She disappears inside their tent. She is agitated. Zanneth just stares after her lover, perplexed.

Leliana appears a short time later, several skinned rabbits hanging from her belt. The look she gives the elf is calculating. She disappears into her tent without a word.

They leave some time later, loaded down with their supplies and the kills they'd managed to make.

* * *

They arrive late enough to miss dinner. Cassandra is not sad for it; she is not in the mood for sitting with people and making nice. She has been quiet, lost in thought all throughout their journey back. She avoids Zanneth's eyes; they make it clear that the elf is hurt at the Seeker's neglect, but Cassandra needs the time to think. She must address the seeds of doubt Leliana has sewn, but she must not be rash. She has learned in her nearly forty years that her instructors were correct – being decisive is important, but acting and speaking too quickly can be disastrous.

But then they are alone in her chambers, and before she can say anything, Zanneth throws her burdens to the ground. "Why do you ignore me, _emma lath_?!"

"I… wait." Cassandra thinks that is a term of endearment, but is not sure. She has met Dalish before; their insults are as beautiful on the ear as their compliments. "What is the meaning of that term?"

The elf's cheeks immediately flush. Cassandra watches as they go from pale, her expression indignant, to bright-red, a look of embarrassment coming over her. "Nothing. I should not have said it. I-"

"Please, Zanneth. It is important."

The elf turns, head down. "'My love.' It means 'my love.'"

Cassandra is shocked. Her doubt melts away as she moves for the elf. "Zanneth…"

The smaller woman attempts to shrug her off. "I was not thinking, I…"

Cassandra manages to turn her, hands on both shoulders. She ducks her head, trying to draw the elf's gaze to her own. "That makes it all the sweeter, dear one." Still unable to meet the elf's gaze, the Seeker finally places a hand gently under her chin, applying as gentle a pressure as will get the woman to move, to look up into her face with those large, soulful eyes. "I feel the same, Zanneth."

The elf's expression twitches, her brows furrowing. "But how? How can I have these feelings so quickly? I know nothing about you, your life, your family, your duties. I know nothing of your companions. You are a  _shem_! But you look at me with those warm eyes and you steady me with your nearness and already I would have you by my side so that I can learn more of you. Perhaps it is not love, but…"

"But I think it could be," Cassandra finishes for her, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips as Zanneth nods. "Yes, that is what I am feeling, as well."

"Why did you ignore me all this day,  _ma vhenan_?" Her eyes are pleading. They nearly break Cassandra's heart.

"I… I was struggling with doubts. I questioned my feelings, as you have just expressed to me now. But no longer. You have washed my doubt away."

"I am glad. But it hurt, Cassandra."

Cassandra moves closer, sliding her arms around the elf's waist. She feels Zanneth's breath hitch, and it sets her heart pounding. "I am sorry. Why don't I work on making it up to you?"

There are no more words, whatever reply Zanneth might have made swallowed by the warrior's kiss.

* * *

Zanneth feels Cassandra breathing. The Seeker's breath is washing over her as they lie together, the larger woman's head just above the elf's breast. The large, intimidating warrior letting go like this, allowing Zanneth to hold her, to relax into her embrace like this, makes the elf's heart melt over and over again.

The Seeker is not asleep however, merely gazing up at Zanneth as the elf gazes down upon her. "Yes I think this could easily continue on to love," she breathes.

Cassandra merely smiles, lifting herself so that they may kiss.

"When I was a child," Cassandra begins, settling back upon Zanneth's breast, "I swore I would never love."

"Never?"

A jostle as the warrior nods. "Never. It seemed foolish, like you were simply opening yourself up to pain."

There is a beat before Zanneth asks, "What happened to you so young to make you feel thusly?"

Cassandra is quiet a moment, but Zanneth does not prod. Something about the silence communicates that the warrior is merely gathering her thoughts, and not ignoring the question posed. Finally, she raises herself on an elbow to better gaze into Zanneth's eyes.

"I have lost most things the Maker has given me. My parents were executed by the king, a distant relative of mine. My brother and I were left with nothing and no one. An uncle took us in, but he did not love us. Provided for us, treated us to a noble's life, but did not love us. Anthony was my world, the only source of love I had left. And then he, too, was taken from me, by madmen with a pointless cause. I was lost. I did not know what to do."

"Oh, Cassandra," Zanneth murmurs, her hand cupping the warrior's cheek. Cassandra allows it, leaning into the touch momentarily, eyes closed so as to drink in the comfort provided.

"I joined the Chantry to get away from that farce of an existence. It provided… well, not joy, but purpose. Serving the Maker provided me with a cause into which I could fuel my anger, my passion. And it allowed me to meet the only other person outside my family I have ever loved. We could not be consistently together – my duties took me far and wide, and he was a loyal Circle mage. But when we could manage a meeting, it was passionate, and it was  _real_. He loved me, and I loved him."

Somehow, rather than jealousy, Zanneth experiences only a sinking feeling. "You speak of him as though he is no longer around."

Cassandra looks away. "He was lost to me only a handful of years ago, a wasting sickness that no healer could counter. I did not even know he was sick. I had been gone a very long time, and when I returned, there was a notice from the White Spire that he had passed. It came with a portrait of me he had kept by his bedside. He'd had it commissioned. It felt so silly sitting still for so long, but he insisted, and I relented." She sighs, looking back to Zanneth. "It is strange, the small details that stick with us. My mother's hair, my father's love of his hunting hounds, Anthony's particular way of tousling my hair before hugging me. Galyan had a way of looking at me… it was as if there was nothing else in the room."

Zanneth is treated to an image of her parents before she can quite even react to Cassandra's story. "The way my parents would nuzzle and kiss each other when they thought we weren't looking. That is how I remember them best."

Cassandra's face registers surprise, but she does not say anything. Zanneth has not spoken of her clan or her family as of yet. "I have had much pain in my like, Zanneth. I have lost most things. I will not lose you, as well. I would see where this goes, between you and I. For you are mine in this place, but in my heart I am yours, as well. I do not yet know how, but I would see you free of this place."

Cassandra's pain, mixed with her clear desire for something deeper with the elf –  _despite_  all that pain – causes Zanneth's heart to swell. She pulls the Seeker close to her, kissing her, trying to pour all the things she feels, but cannot find the words for, into that kiss. She must show this human what she means, how worthy of love and joy she is.

They fall asleep entangled, sharing their air and their warmth on that cool winter's night.


	4. The Loving

"If you look here, this part of the word is similar to…"

Zanneth cannot concentrate. Cassandra's voice goes in and out of focus. The elven huntress is used to spending the day hunting, running, tracking, and cleaning any kills she makes. And while their sole hunting trip did many good things for her, it was only the one trip. It has been more than a week since then. She spends many hours exploring Cassandra, her body, her mind, but still it does not fill the time like she is used to. She is restless. She has never lived a life of study. She is not accustomed to it, nor, it seems, does she have an aptitude for it.

"Zanneth!"

The elf starts, immediately blushing. She has been caught staring. Her eyes have been fixed on Cassandra's lips, or following the line of the Seeker's throat. Right before she finally heard her name called they had been fixed upon the swell of her lover's bosom, hidden beneath her leather jerkin. Her mind's eye pictured what those large, heavy breasts look like as they are freed from the breast-band holding them in place under all those layers of clothing.

"I- I'm sorry," she stammers, ducking her head as she tries to control the flushing of her face.

Cassandra looks irked, but at the same time Zanneth can see the smirk just barely pulling at her lips. "Are you sure you can concentrate when you are out on the hunt?" Cassandra's brow is raised.

Zanneth sighs, getting up from her seat, pacing lazily, aimlessly, through the room. "I have been trying. But it is incredibly difficult with you so near."

"Zanneth. We made love  _this morning_. Surely you do not want more?"

She turns, putting on her best pout as she moves closer. "Is it really so awful," she says, falling to her knees, her voice falling an octave, "that I cannot get enough of your taste, brave warrior?"

Cassandra's eyes dilate almost immediately. But she is the picture of self-control,  _not_  immediately seizing the elf and having her way with her as Zanneth had hoped, instead holding out her hand. The huntress eyes it a moment before placing her hand within, palm-to-palm. She is drawn up, and then she is straddling the human's lap.

Cassandra gives her a mock-glare, a smirk pulling at the corners of her eyes. It strikes Zanneth that she has never studied anyone's eyes as much as this human's. "I thought I was the one with insatiable lust before we coupled, but I do think you have me beat, dear one."

Zanneth relaxes. "I do love it when you call me that,  _ma vhenan_."

Cassandra's sweet, dark breath washes over her as she pulls closer. "And I love it when you call me that."

They kiss, slowly. Cassandra's lips are warm, soft. But Zanneth can smell herself on the human's lips still, and she can hardly control herself. She deepens the kiss, dipping her tongue out to tangle with the warrior's. She grips Cassandra's jerkin, pulling the warrior closer even as she grinds her hips down. She is not wearing her customary leggings, as she has not left the room this day, and it is with a groan of delight – or perhaps torture – that Cassandra breaks their kissing.

"Dear Maker, I can  _smell_  you," she growls between the kisses she now trails along the elf's jaw. Her hands paw at the elf's robe, pulling the tie and exposing the elf's body to her. A rough, callused hand plays with one small breast while the other moves around to cup the smaller woman's rump.

"I blame it all on you," Zanneth purrs.

But the mood shifts subtly as Cassandra descends down the line of Zanneth's neck. Her lips encounter the collar at the elf's throat, and she stiffens, her hands stilling in their movements. Her arms wrap slowly around Zanneth's waist, her forehead descending upon the elf's shoulder.

Zanneth does not need to ask what is wrong. She knows how her captivity troubles Cassandra. She knows that the Seeker does not know how she will free her and maintain their ruse, how they will safely leave. Zanneth knows that at times Cassandra finds the collar erotic, but that it is also a constant reminder of her inability to act, of the injustices done here despite this Chantry's assertion that they do the work of the same deity Cassandra serves.

And she knows how deeply Cassandra wishes she can do something as simple as pressing a kiss to Zannth's throat.

All this she knows already. She does not need to ask. But she does anyway, so that she might draw the warrior out, keep her from dwelling. She wants Cassandra here, with her, and not embroiled in the million and one problems she cannot fix.

" _Ma vhenan_ , please, what troubles you? Why the sudden shift?"

Cassandra presses a soft kiss to her shoulder before looking up with those dark, warm eyes. "I hate this."

Zanneth cups the human's cheek. "I know."

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise. "I hate that I cannot fix this."

"I know."

"I hate that I cannot free you."

"I know."

"And I  _hate_  that you must simply wait for me to solve this problem while I search fruitlessly for a solution."

Zanneth sighs, closing her eyes and leaning forward to rest her forehead on Cassandra's. "I hate that you can't look at me without seeing it."

Strong hands take hold of her face. The caress is gentle, though it startles her just the same. "I look at you and I do not see a captive, Zanneth. I see a strong woman whom I admire, and wish to help. I see someone I care for, and who I know cares for me. I… apologize, for letting my worries seep into our time together. I grow frustrated with the uselessness of this ruse. I have always sought to act before anything else. There is a reason I am the Hand that holds the sword, and Leliana is the Hand that holds the favors. So when I cannot act… I brood. I am sorry."

Zanneth, grinning like a fool, shakes her head. "This is not something to apologize for, my beautiful warrior. You are a treasure. I would not have you any other way."

The Seeker smirks. "Liar. You would  _have_  me any way you can."

Zanneth blushes, but continues grinning as Cassandra stands, the elf in her arms. She's carried over to the bed, her language lessons forgotten on the table as they make short work of the rest of their clothing.

* * *

Cassandra laces up her boots. She sits upon a chair away from the bed, but with a good view of it. She pauses to gaze upon the scene laid out before her, smiling to herself as memories of the last few hours wash over her. Zanneth has been restless, so their lovemaking was particularly spirited. Now the elf lies asleep, nothing but a thin sheet covering her slight form. As the fires have been roaring all morning, the room is a comfortable temperature, so the Seeker does nothing to cover her up. The comforter is there if she requires it.

Cassandra moves to the washbasin, washing her hands and face with actual soap so that she does not smell as though she has been coupling all morning. Her breath she will have to ask Leliana about – the woman has a constant supply of mint leaves she keeps to freshen her breath if it is needed.

But it means she will have to go to Leliana about it. She sighs. They have not spoken of Leliana's suspicions since the former bard brought it up. Cassandra's doubts were banished that first night, and she has not voiced them to Zanneth – why worry the elf? But she has watched Zanneth's behavior, comparing the time they are alone to the times either of her companions are present. The elven huntress is… reserved, polite, not looking overlong at Cassandra or touching her overmuch.

_"Why are you so reserved when the others are around, dear one?"_

_The elf blinks herself awake; she had been pleasantly dozing. "Am I?"_

_"Yes. You are," Cassandra answers assuredly._

_"I suppose it is something that is second nature to me. My people are as you describe, when with non-family, at least insofar as romance is concerned. It is all very formal. We do not… touch each other as I have seen Leliana and Solona do."_

_"You do not even hold hands or exchange parting signs of affection?"_

_"We say our greetings and our partings in private, away from the eyes of others."_

_"I suppose I can understand it. Though I would not expect such a tight-knit clan to be so formal and private. How do you stay so close if you constantly hold them at arm's length?"_

_"You misunderstand me. It is only in romance that we are so private. Our friendships are open and affectionate, full of touching and hugging and enthusiasm. I suspect this is_ _**why** _ _we are so private in our romantic entanglements: everyone knows your business, almost before you yourself do, and… I don't know. It doesn't belong to them." She nuzzles in to Cassandra's side as she adds, "It belongs to us."_

Cassandra understands this reasoning. Living in Orlais for so long, going to court, watching as whatever happened there was quickly disseminated throughout high society, she can appreciate the discretion. In fact she kept her own entanglement with Galyan very private; not secret, but private. But even so, she worries, for she fears Leliana sees only a cold, calculating, unfeeling woman toying with the Seeker's emotions. Perhaps she should just speak with Leliana, instead of trusting her opinion to change over time?

She leaves without disturbing her lover; the elf would wake if Cassandra even whispered a kiss upon her brow, her nearly in-born hunter's wariness causing her to be a light sleeper at best. She closes the door silently, moving down the hall to Leliana and Solona's chambers.

"Ah, Seeker. I feel I have not seen you in  _weeks_."

Cassandra feels her cheeks heat even as she restrains the urge to roll her eyes. She deserves the teasing. She has certainly earned it. "I suppose we have holed up since returning from our hunt, haven't we?"

"Indeed," Leliana says, not looking up from her place at a writing desk. Cassandra sees the thin line of the woman's lips, the tension in the set of her shoulders. She is upset, that much is blatantly obvious.

"Leliana, I-"

"We can speak later, Cassandra. We have a court dinner to attend off the Chantry grounds, where every word will likely be overheard and reported. We can talk when we return."

Cassandra sighs. She is not looking forward to this event. They will not return for  _hours_. She will be tired, her patience will be stretched thin. She will likely be required to  _dance_  with people… at least Solona makes a fine dance partner. Too bad she is a lecherous  _tease_  who delights in making Cassandra uncomfortable by dancing  _just_  too close. She will not be in the mood to be lectured once more by Leliana. But she must talk to the former bard about Zanneth, make her see that her suspicions are unfounded, though her protective streak is appreciated.

"Yes, alright," Cassandra says, shaking her head. "Will you promise to hear me out, though, Leliana? I am not  _actually_  a child. I do have some experience in the matters of my own heart."

Leliana looks up, eyes softening. "Yes, of course, Cassandra. I… am sorry. I-"

Cassandra never learns what Leliana planned to say, as at that moment there is a knock upon the door. Slaves enter with several of the seamstresses, clothing and sewing implements in-hand – their gift from the Magister whose dinner they are attending. Suppressing a sigh, Cassandra merely watches as they begin their work. This is going to be a  _very_  long afternoon and evening.

* * *

"Well. At least they let us where our  _comfortable_  boots," Solona quips as they enter hers and Leliana's room once more.

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise. She has no patience left. She is eager to be rid of her clothes, her shoes, and spend a good solid hour soaking in a hot bath, preferably with Zanneth for company. But as she catches Leliana's eye, she knows that that is not in the cards for her night just yet.

"Now we are back, we really should discuss this dalliance of yours, Cassandra," Leliana begins.

Cassandra sighs. "Can it not wait for us to have fresh minds and bodies?"

The former bard purses her lips. "If I let you leave now, I fear I will not see you for at least another  _week_. I tried to warn you not to get too attached, and yet here you are, doing exactly that, for someone who is likely using you-"

"I do not appreciate being treated like a misbehaving  _child_ , Leliana," the Seeker huffs. "We are colleagues, and I respect you, but you are wrong in this."

"You are so sure." Leliana's tone is… almost mocking.

"Yes, I am so sure." Cassandra glares, but Leliana does not back down. She is one of the few who does not wither under the Seeker's gaze. Zanneth is one other. "How are you so sure her heart is not true? Am I so truly unloveable?"

That does it. Leliana's expression opens into shock, her lips opening but no words coming out. She is speechless.

Cassandra sighs, turning to face away. "I am sorry, I-"

She is cut off by a shriek.

"Zanneth!" she cries, running immediately for the door, the argument forgotten. She barely registers the sound of the other's footsteps as they follow her. All she can think of is the quality of that shriek. Her lover is  _terrified_.

She finds the door to her chambers standing ajar. Bursting forth, she takes in the scene before her in but a moment. Zanneth is upon the floor, her robe disheveled and exposing parts of her to the open air, looking up with large, terror-filled eyes. Her hand is raised in front of her as if to keep something from hitting her face. Standing over her is a man, an elven slave. His posture is aggressive, though Cassandra cannot see his face. He holds something she cannot see, but the words he has been shouting in what is clearly his native tongue of Ferelden finally register upon her ears.

"You damnable Dalish! Thinking you are so much better, spitting on us, calling us 'flat-ear' as though we lack your same heritage! Even when they take you, even when you are in the  _same chains as us_ , still your disdain for us is there! But that is not enough. No. Your marked faces and your well-fed physique make them take you to their beds! You are fed and clothed and cared for, sleeping the day away and indulging in the pleasures of the flesh while we clean their shit and earn the lash! You look down upon us for not being one of  _you_ , but  _I_  will make you one of  _us_. I will tear those marks from your face!"

He is through his tirade by the time Cassandra is through the door. "Zanneth!" the Seeker shouts. The elven assailant's attention is called before he can strike, and Zanneth, Maker bless her, acts immediately, striking out with both feet. There is a  _pop_  as her feet hit the side of his knee, followed immediately by the man's cry of pain, and he is on the ground.

Cassandra is there immediately, prying his weapon from his hand. It is a rock – simple, yet it would do a lot of damage, especially to a skull. Casting it aside, Cassandra stands, the elven man's arm in her hand so she may pull him to his feet. He cries out again, as his leg will not take the weight.

"I will question him," Leliana says.

"No need." Cassandra scowls down at him. "He has given his purpose away." Making a disgusted noise, she pushes him away from her. "Detain him. We will figure out something to do with him later." She has eyes only for Zanneth now. Rushing to her side, she pulls her cloak from her shoulders, coming to the now-standing Dalish elf and wrapping it about her.

"My dear Zanneth," she murmurs in Nevarran, pulling her face up so she might examine her. "Are you hurt? Was he able to land a blow?"

The elf shakes her head. "No, no he was unable." Her large eyes meet Cassandra's, and then her arms are around Cassandra's neck as she throws herself into the warrior's arms. Cassandra embraces her fiercely as the elf keeps talking. "I couldn't understand him. He came in with a platter of food, said something, and then he tripped me and started ranting. Then you were here, distracting him."

"I know what he said," Cassandra nearly growls. "We will discuss it later. For now, I am just glad you are alright."

Pulling away, unmindful of both Solona and Leliana keeping the injured man at bay, Zanneth looks up into Cassandra's eyes, cupping her face with both hands. "You have a habit of coming to my rescue at the most opportune moment,  _emma lath_."

Cassandra shakes her head, turning and kissing one of the elf's palms. "You are responsible for your rescue this time, dear one. Your cry called my attention, and it was your kick that incapacitated him. I merely provided the distraction."

"Well, then we make a good team."

"Um… perhaps this is a bad time," Solona says in Orlesian, recalling Cassandra's attention, "but we really ought to find out what happened. And figure out what to do with this… gentleman."

Cassandra turns to her companions, keeping gentle hold of Zanneth's shoulders. "Question him if you like. I would take care of Zanneth."

"I will take care of her," Leliana says, eyes moving rapidly back and forth from Cassandra to Zanneth. "You are the Seeker, Cassandra – you question him."

Cassandra holds Leliana's gaze for a moment. "Leliana, I should-"

The redhead is at her side now, looking into the elf's face as her hands replace Cassandra's on the elf's shoulders. "Go, Cassandra. Question him. I will stay with your…  _paramour_." Finally, blue eyes meet brown. "She is in good hands, I assure you."

Sighing, Cassandra nods. "Yes, very well." So Leliana wishes to question Zanneth, see for herself if the elf's feelings are genuine. Fine. Let her. Cassandra knows the elf's heart. She is not afraid.

"Zanneth, I must deal with this man. Leliana will stay with you until I return. Alright?"

Zanneth merely nods. Her posture is straight, slightly stiff – she is unused to anyone being so physically close to her except Cassandra.

Striding across the room, she takes the elven man by the arm again. "Come," she says to him in Fereldan. "You are going to tell me  _everything_ you know about the attack on that slave."

He whimpers and protests, but as his knee is useless, he can do nothing but allow her to half-carry him into Solona and Leliana's chambers for questioning.

* * *

Leliana's hands are strange to her. They are just as gentle as Cassandra's, just as warm. True, they are much smaller, but Zanneth does not think that is where the true difference lies. No, it is that the redheaded human is much more  _calculated_  in all her movements. Cassandra is confident in herself, in how she stands and speaks and comports herself with others, but there is a roughness there, a casualness; a warrior's grace, rather than a courtier's. Leliana is smooth and reserved; Zanneth gets the feeling that no movement is wasted.

"Come," the human says in Antivan, a gentle pressure turning the elf so that she may be led over to a divan underneath one of the large windows. It is dark out, the curtains drawn, but even still, being so near the window makes the elf uneasy, exposed. She is still shaken from her encounter, her heart still racing.

 _She's doing this for a reason_ , Zanneth realizes. Leliana does  _nothing_  without purpose.

Zanneth sits, and the human leaves her side, returning with a glass of wine poured from what the elven slave had brought for Cassandra. The elf watches, perplexed, as Leliana sniffs it, taking the smallest of sips. Nodding almost imperceptibly, she hands the glass to Zanneth.

"Drink. It will calm your nerves."

Zanneth accepts the glass, but does not drink. She has never developed a taste for wine. She would prefer water, but does not ask for it. Instead she looks up at the human once more. "Why do that?"

"Do what?"

"Taste before give me." She knows her grasp of the language is broken, but the finer points of the grammar and syntax have eluded her thus far. She is told she is learning quickly. She supposes it must be true, as it has only been two weeks since she began learning.

Leliana smiles. "Habit. I was checking it for poison."

Zanneth's heart rams into her ribs, and she immediately looks into the glass as if it might hold a knife against her.  _Poison?! He might poison me?!_

A musical laugh fills the air, and suddenly Zanneth can see what it was the giant mage fell in love with. A small hand appears just above the elf's knee as Leliana explains, "Come now, drink! It is safe. I do not think his attack was premeditated. I think he saw you here and alone and decided to act."

Zanneth takes a sip, skeptical. The wine is sweet, and while she is unused to it, it is not unpleasant. As she takes another sip, Leliana's hand moves up on her leg, only slightly, but the elf notices, eyes snapping down to see pale skin against pale skin. The human has moved her robe slightly out of the way, revealing even more of her bare thigh than the short garment shows on its own.

_What does she want?_

"The Lady Cassandra is quite taken with you," Leliana says after a moment. Something is strange about the words. Her hand is warm on Zanneth's thigh. It makes the elf uncomfortable, but she is unsure how to ask for the human to stop. Perhaps if she draws Cassandra's cloak more tightly about her? But she is holding the wine.

Before Zanneth can answer, Leliana leans in, speaking low into the elf's ear. "Perhaps you can show me what has her so enraptured? You could come with us, if you show me." Her hand travels further up, nearly exposing Zanneth's sex to the open air.

Alarm races through Zanneth, and she stands, the glass of wine tumbling to the floor and shattering. "You know Nevarran, Lady Leliana," the elf says, realizing what it was that was so strange. The moment Leliana's hand had alighted upon the elf's leg, she had begun speaking in Nevarran. "Why do you hide such a thing? And from  _Cassandra_? And your  _lover_?"

Leliana merely smiles. Strangely, it is more genuine than anything else has been this evening. " _You_  have passed your final test, Lady Zanneth."

"Test?" Zanneth asks, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Indeed. I am quite protective of those I love, you see. I had to be sure your feelings were genuine, that you weren't attempting to use my dear friend and colleague. I can't risk this whole operation smuggling out a con artist, now can I?"

"But you can risk it if I am sincere?"

"I am  _willing_ , yes. Cassandra has had precious little joy in her life. To see her so enamored of someone is wonderful. But…"

"But you had to be sure I was not using her, that I would not take her joy away."

"Yes."

"I suppose I can understand that. But why the deception with the language?"

Leliana spreads her hands conciliatorily. "A good spymaster always has one last secret up her sleeve, even from those she loves most. I never said I  _didn't_  speak Nevarran, but I also did not say that I speak it. If I asked you outright you could simply lie. But your actions and your attitude do not lie. You care for my friend, and-"

"I more than  _care_  for Cassandra," Zanneth interjects. Somehow "care for" is not enough. It is not strong enough, does not capture the truth of her feelings.

Leliana merely nods. "And is sharing your body with her the way you show such feeling?"

Zanneth scowls. "I think I might love her, and I would give her every happiness I could, were I but free and able. I am neither of those things. All I can do is share myself with her as completely and openly as I may. And, yes, that includes sharing my body with her, as she shares hers with me. As you share yours with your giantess in the other room."

It takes a moment, but Leliana laughs, genuine mirth showing on her face. "'Giantess'? Oh, I will have to share that one with her!" Zanneth stares suspiciously as Leliana finds her feet. "Calm down, please, Zanneth. I believe you are sincere. I apologize for the need to question you, and for the attempt at seduction."

"Why  _now_? I was just attacked. Could it not have waited for a more opportune moment?"

Leliana shook her head, smile still in place. "What better time than when you are emotionally vulnerable, shaken? And I had you alone. I have not had you alone yet on this venture. It was my first opportunity to see for myself if you were using my best and closest friend."

Zanneth sighs, her scowl falling away. "I suppose I can understand your desire to protect her. I wish I could do more to protect her. Can you imagine? A hunter wishes to protect the warrior." She shakes her head. "It is preposterous."

That same hand that had made the elf so uncomfortable now alights on her shoulder, though this time in causes no discomfort. It provides reassurance. How can the human change the nature of a simple touch so thoroughly? "It is not preposterous. Both our lovers have noble hearts. I fight to keep them that way, so that the twisted evil in this world will not change them. I hope you will help me in this? To keep Cassandra's noble heart whole? She holds such passion for someone who has experienced so much pain and loss."

Zanneth studies the woman for a moment. She does not know if she can trust her. The human is skilled in playing a role, in changing her expression, her tone, and her actions to fit what she wants to portray. Right now she wishes to portray trust. Zanneth does not trust her, not like she does Cassandra. But she realizes that Leliana would not have shared her intent with the elf had she wished more interrogating, more questioning. In this, at least, she is being honest.

The elf gently shrugs off the human's hand, taking a step back and holding out her own hand. "I do not trust you, human. But I trust Cassandra. I want her happy. In  _this_  I can help you, but I will be watching you. And I will be sharing _all_ that has happened this night with her."

Leliana takes her hand with little hesitation. "I do not need you to trust me outright. You have earned my trust. I will do all I can to earn yours. And in that vein, I make you this promise: I know Cassandra has promised to get you out of here. I have heard her say such things. But more importantly, I know what she would say to someone she cares for. And I know she does not yet know how she will do this thing. But  _I_  know how she will. I will smuggle you out of Tevinter, Zanneth, free elf of the People. You will be free again. But you must do as I say, and only when the time comes."

Zanneth releases Leliana's hand with a nod. She has no words for the human. She will do this thing or she will not. Zanneth will reserve further judgment until then.

"I ask only one boon of you," Leliana says, letting her hand fall to her side.

Zanneth is immediately suspicious. "What?"

"Take care of her, Zanneth. She has had so little reason for living outside of the Chantry and the Maker. Please… be good to her."

The elf relaxes. "I want nothing more than that,  _shem_."

Leliana nods. "Very well. Stay here. I will fetch you your lover. You deserve to be comforted by someone who has your heart. And, again, I am sorry for the charade. I am glad this all turned out as well as it did."

And then she is gone, slipping out the door without a backward glance.

"Such a  _strange_  woman," Zanneth murmurs, shaking her head. She gathers Cassandra's cloak more tightly about her, surrounded in the warrior's scent, and settles in to await her return.

* * *

"Cassandra, you must not beat him! He is but a man, with every right to feel as he does!"

The leather of Cassandra's glove creaks from the tightness of her fist. She sees only red. Solona's words barely make sense. This man would tear into Zanneth's beloved face, spoil her body and leave her a broken mess, weeping upon the floor. She cannot see beyond that.

Hands take her roughly by the shoulders, a multi-toned voice reverberating around the room. "His anger, Cassandra! It is  _justified_. It is misdirected, yes – it is his human captors he so hates and not Zanneth – but it is a  _justified_  anger! Place yourself in his shoes, Seeker!"

That helps. The red recedes some, and Cassandra's eyes focus upon the Warden. She nods. Solona looks into her eyes a moment before nodding herself, releasing Cassandra's jerkin and stepping back. Straightening her back, Cassandra strides toward the elven man cowering upon the floor.

"That tirade I heard as I entered my rooms," she begins, voice calm, blood cooling. "Is that the reason for the initial attack upon that slave?"

The man glares, but he answers. He must. He is a slave here. "Yes."

Cassandra gives a curt nod. "And were you the one to incite the mob?"

Again, he glares.

"Answer her," Solona warns, her voice multi-toned, her eyes still glowing.

It does the trick. "Yes," he rushes, a little fear mixed in with the contempt in his eyes. "I was the first to speak. But all the others feel as I do!" he hurries as Solona's fist rises. Cassandra nearly smirks. The mage is good at scaring people, that is certain.

Cassandra considers him. There is really nothing else to ask. She now knows the reason for the attack upon Zanneth when she first found the young woman, and she knows the reason for his attack not ten minutes before. But what to do with him?

"Go," she says after a full minute of observing him. "If you say nothing, neither will I. But if I catch you even  _looking_  at the Dalish slave in the other room again, I  _will_  kill you. And they will assume I had good reason."

"I will do as you say." He gets to his feet, or tries, attempting to hobble to the door. But it is clear within only a few paces that his leg is utterly useless. Cassandra makes a disgusted noise. "Solona, do something about that, please."

The mage nods, eyes starting to glow again as she silently moves to the man's side. She takes ahold of his arm, startling him, but his eyes quickly fill with wonder as his body is surrounded in blue, healing energies. He tests his leg, putting his weight upon it.

"Thank you," he mumbles to Solona, and then he is gone,  _running_  for the door and slipping out before Cassandra can change her mind about reporting his behavior. He does not want the lash. Despite her earlier wrath, the Seeker can hardly blame him. It is not  _he_  who designed this detestable system of slavery in Tevinter.

"You truly love her, don't you?"

Cassandra's head snaps up, and she finds Solona's slate-grey eyes upon her. "Yes. It is early to call it that, but… I do." Her answer is simple, just as are her feelings on the matter. That is all there is there say. She does love the elf. It was fast, and it is only the beginning; will get deeper with time. But the truth is the truth. She has been trained all her life to recognize it. She would not be the Seeker she is if she could not first detect the truth within herself.

"And you are certain she feels the same?"

Cassandra smirks. "I see Leliana has shared her doubts with you privately. Yes, I am certain."

"I suppose it would be an exercise in futility to ask you to explain  _why_?"

Cassandra merely holds her gaze.

"Yes, that is what I thought," Solona says with a nod, turning away.

"Is my answer not enough for you, Warden?"

"It is enough for me, Cassandra, but I was never the one you two needed to convince."

"No, she was not," Leliana's voice drifts from the door. The former bard slips the door shut, walking calmly into the room. "Luckily, I am now convinced. We have much to discuss, Cassandra, but most of it can wait until tomorrow. For now, know only that the love blossoming between the two of you is truly marvelous to behold. It makes me wish to revisit the days of the Blight, simply so I can be in that beginning place with my love once more. And," Leliana adds with a sheepish smile, "I have kept a secret from you."

"Oh?"

To Cassandra's surprise, Leliana speaks in Nevarran. "Yes, Seeker Pentaghast. I have."

Blinking a moment in surprise, Cassandra recovers with, "I see."

Leliana smiles, switching back to her far more comfortable language of Orlesian. "Go to your lover, Cassandra. She is good, and resistant to my attempts at seduction. She awaits your presence. We will speak of the rest of it on the morrow."

Cassandra's desire her to be with Zanneth wins against her curiosity, and she nods, leaving for her chambers without another word. Leliana is right. They can speak the next day. For now, she would be with her lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit where it's due - the elf's tirade was made infinitely better by Raven Sinead.
> 
> Writing Leliana being devious was a lot of fun.
> 
> This fic makes me wanna make my inquisitor point at Cassandra in-game and needle with, "you have feeeeeeeeeelings!" Of course, Cass in-game makes me wanna make my inquisitor do that, so... yeah.
> 
> As in the game, Cassandra makes a lot of disgusted noises in this chapter. I loved that, at every turn, Cass was the only one with full health and full guard and supreme contempt for all the stupid boys around her trying to die. I saw a comic to that effect a few weeks ago, but I can't find it again, otherwise I'd link it and give the artist some traffic. If anyone knows what I'm talking about, please PM it to me!


	5. The Comforting

"Dear one, are you alright?"

Zanneth is out of the cloak and in Cassandra's arms between one heartbeat and the next. In fact, she flies so quickly at the warrior that Cassandra has no choice but to literally  _catch_  the elf in her arms, bracing Zanneth's weight upon her strong hips.

Zanneth just pins her knees tightly on either side of the warrior. She hardly minds being held aloft by her larger lover.

She answers Cassandra's question with a kiss, long and deep, leaving them both breathless by the time she pulls back. "I am fine now," she breathes, cherishing the change in Cassandra's expression from breathless desire to a small smile of relief.

"You are insatiable," Cassandra murmurs, seeking Zanneth's lips out for another kiss. But the elf leans back, disallowing the warrior her prize. She is feeling so relieved that it is quickly turning into playfulness.

She smirks at Cassandra's whimper.

"Why do you tease me so, Zanneth?"

The Dalish elf unwraps her legs from Cassandra's hips. The human relents, placing her on her feet. "Did Leliana speak with you?"

"Yes. She informed me that she actually  _can_  speak Nevarran. I bet she has been listening to us this whole time, the scoundrel. I assume you two spoke at length? She said she is now convinced you are not trying to  _trick_  me in some way."

Zanneth nods, holding out her hand, delighting in the way Cassandra takes it without hesitation. "Yes,  _ma vhenan_. We spoke, and she… informed me that she will be aiding you in my escape."

"Yes," Cassandra says, allowing Zanneth to lead her toward the small, attached bathing chamber. "She said we would meet tomorrow to discuss the details. I… wait. Where are you taking me?"

Zanneth smiles, turning and trailing a hand up over Cassandra's stomach, up over her breast, ending at her shoulder. A small shiver travels through the warrior at the elf's suggestive touch, and it delights her, spurring her forward. Coming closer, she begins unbuckling the belt over Cassandra's Seeker's tabard. "They drew a bath before all the excitement. It is why I was dressed, and awake. I had to hide the evidence of our language lessons, since we… left it out before you left."

Cassandra smirks at the last, but her amusement doesn't last long. Her features rearrange, softening into concern, and her hands halt Zanneth's, which have removed the tabard and are beginning on the warrior's tunic. "Wait, Zanneth. Why are you comforting me? I should be taking care of you, after all that happened this night."

Zanneth shakes her head, smiling up at the tall human warrior. " _I_  am not the one who got so upset she nearly murdered someone. Now hush, and let me take care of you, and perhaps you can take care of me, as well."

Cassandra tries to say something, but Zanneth hushes her with a kiss, fingers lacing into the short hair and pulling the warrior's face down. Then she gets to work on the rest of the Seeker's clothing. Soon, Cassandra stands before her, unabashedly nude. Her heavy breasts are incredibly enticing, nipples erect in the cool air. Her hair is tousled by their earlier kissing. But what attracts Zanneth's gaze most is the warrior's eyes: dark, smoldering, desire swirling within them, promising all manner of delightfully wicked encounters between them in the hours to come.

It sets the elf's heart pounding. But she does not give in. Instead, she points both at the warrior's chest and at the claw-footed tub in the middle of the small chamber. "In. Now."

Cassandra leans forward with a smirk, taking the tip of Zanneth's finger into her mouth for a moment, sucking lightly, caressing it with her tongue and sending the elf's poor heart on a madcap dash to escape through her ribs. Then the warrior straightens, walking the few feet necessary with a cocky swagger to her gait, and takes a step into the water. Zanneth can see the relief on her face as she steps in.

"I hope you will be joining me," the Seeker says as she lies back. The water is up to her chest and her large breasts float in an entirely enticing way atop the water. Smirking, Zanneth undoes the tie to her simple short robe, watching Cassandra's eyes watch  _her_.

"And you keep saying  _I_  am insatiable," Zanneth purrs, chuckling when the warrior's face flushes just the slightest bit. Truly, it is not fair that her darker skin makes her embarrassment less noticeable than the elf's. But Zanneth knows the warrior lives to bring a flush to her own paler skin, and Zanneth cannot deny that that, in turn, makes her blood pound in all  _manner_  of inappropriate places.

She lets the robe fall to the floor, baring the rest of her flesh to the slight chill in the air. Stepping high, she enters the bath, feeling gooseflesh rise upon her skin at the intensity of Cassandra's gaze, as well as from the warmth of the water. Her skin flushes at what is promised within those smoldering eyes.

She is barely on her knees, straddling Cassandra's hips, when a callused hand is at her throat, fingers snaking beneath the collar there and yanking down. With a yelp, Zanneth splashes into her lover, their lips crashing together. It hurts a little, her lips catching between their teeth momentarily, but it is also good, and fierce, and it fills her with ardor. It is all heat: wet, beautiful, dark, sweet. And it is for her alone.

Her collar is released, the warrior's arms wrapping around her waist and pulling them tightly together. The water is slippery, and while it is unfamiliar, it is pleasant, filling all the spaces where their skin does not touch, enveloping them both in a pleasant embrace.

She pushes her tongue into Cassandra's mouth, snaking her arms up and around the warrior's neck, holding tightly to her lover. They stay that way for some time, simply kissing, and relaxing, letting the water bear their weight as they revel in each other's presence.

Finally, though, Zanneth begins to move, loosening her hold on Cassandra and sliding down the warrior's long body. The tall warrior moans breathlessly as Zanneth nips and sucks at the skin, taking each nipple into her mouth momentarily before moving lower, her hands lifting Cassandra's hips, bearing her lover's weight easily in the water.

"What are you doing?" Cassandra's voice is low and rough, her eyes dilated so far that Zanneth cannot even tell that they are brown except for memory.

The elf smiles, eyes stealing back down to the curls of hair wet with water and arousal: the prize she has been seeking her entire journey down the length of Cassandra's body. "I want to taste you, Cassandra."

The warrior moans. "I love watching you do that," she rumbles, setting the elf's pulse racing.

"I know." She smirks even as she dips her head forward, folding her body even more, resting on her knees as she is. Wet fingers entwine in the elf's short hair as the warrior's musky scent wafts over her. Cassandra shudders in Zanneth's grasp.

She tastes divine: hard and earthy and sweet and dark and all things strong and stoic. The elf knows only Cassandra's and her own taste as far as women go, having only had the company of her deceased husband before Cassandra. It was a melancholy night when she admitted that she had not actually been alone when she had been captured, that Sinna had been killed in his attempt to protect her from their captors. She had wept, cursing the idiot for not having relented to their abductors and saved his own life. She was not worth dying for.

_Cassandra is compassionate, but also uncomfortable. "I did not realize… you are so young to be a widow." She pets Zanneth's hair, but something is different. Her movements are not so free as they had been before the elf's admission came. Her body is stiff, rather than the lithe plasticity usually exhibited after lovemaking._

_"_ Emma lath _, what is wrong?" Zanneth asks after a moment, holding herself up and away from her lover. Her eyes are dry now, though Cassandra's shoulder is still damp with her tears._

_"I… it was not so long ago. I fear I have taken advantage of your pain, your vulnerability-"_

_"Hush." Zanneth places a finger over Cassandra's lips, looking down at her imperiously. "None of that. You grow guilty too quickly Cassandra."_

_The warrior makes a frustrated sound. "But you had a husband! Such potential! Such love! And I have moved in on his place at your side."_

_"I have invited you in, my dear, stubborn_ shem _." Her heart drops, for she knows she must admit this final thing. "I… I cared for Sinna, it is true. We knew each other since childhood, and he and my brother were the best of friends. But… it was not like this. Never was it like this. He could not please me. His affection was… unwelcome, but I did not know how to dissuade his courtship. I should never have agreed to marry him, for I could not return the level of affection he gave. But I am young and saw my duty to my clan as securing our future with children. I see now that I was blind. I…"_

_A hand on her cheek. "Zanneth…"_

_She blinks away a tear, shaking her head. "No, please. I need to finish." She takes a deep breath. "I was with child when I was captured, Cassandra. And I was terrified. I was so relieved the day I miscarried, when I awoke in blood and the other elves moved away from me in disgust. I think the humans knew what had happened, and one of them came to me and made me drink a bitter tea. It was over quickly after that. I felt like a monster, but… but I am still glad. It is easier this way. Less complicated."_

_Cassandra is quiet. She continues to cup the elf's cheek, her other hand absently running up and down the elf's ribcage. Normally this makes her blood pound with arousal, but now it is comforting, a sure sign that the human in whose arms she rests does not think less of her for her admission. Instead the human kisses her, cradles her, and whispers that she is lovely and beautiful and_ _**worthy** _ _._

_The hesitation in Cassandra's embrace is gone._

"Dear one?"

Zanneth blinks. She had been lost in her memories and had stilled her movements. She redoubles her efforts now, but Cassandra shakes her head, deliberately moving her hips back into the water despite the elf's grip on her backside.

"No, dear one. Something is troubling you. Please, talk to me."

Zanneth sighs and moves into the human's arms. "I got caught up in memories of how wonderful you are to me."

"Oh? How am I so wonderful? I allow you to convince me that lovemaking is a good idea after being attacked."

Zanneth chuckles, nuzzling further into Cassandra's neck. "Perhaps that was not the best idea. I merely wanted to be with you, close to you. But when I get close to you, I always want more."

"I can understand  _that_  sentiment," the warrior says with a dark chuckle. "But perhaps we were too hasty. Perhaps we can instead simply share this moment together, knowing that when I leave, you will be coming with me, and we need not worry any longer?"

Allowing the human to lie back with the elf draped over her, Zanneth says, " _That_  sounds like the perfect thing in the world, Cassandra.  _Ma vhenan_."

Cassandra purrs her approval, tightening her grip around Zanneth's waist so that there is no distance between them.

* * *

"Tell me you have some semblance of a plan."

Leliana smiles. "I do."

Cassandra nods. "Good. I would hear it."

"Not here," Leliana says, taking Cassandra by the arm and moving to the window. One cannot tell by simply looking, but Cassandra knows that as Leliana merely glances out the window, she is taking in as much information as Cassandra would were she to spend an entire five minutes staring and taking in all the details she can see.

Seemingly satisfied, Leliana releases Cassandra's arm. "You and Solona will speak after your sparring session this morning, and I will take Zanneth out on a ride with me as my groom. She needs to learn to ride anyway."

"Why the secrecy? We have been speaking in Orlesian and Nevarran in these rooms with no scrutiny."

"The slaves know something is amiss now, since you let the one we found last night free."

Cassandra's eyes narrow. "He said something? That slimy little bastard. I'll kill him."

Leliana merely smiles, completely disarming Cassandra's anger. "Actually, it is that he  _stopped_  saying things. He has done everything you said, and even though it is only the morning after the incident, he stops those who would take up his diatribe against your lady."

To say Cassandra is surprised would be an understatement. But she is also suspicious. "And how do you know this?"

"Please, Cassandra. I can disappear into any shadow large enough to fit me. I needed to know what was happening." Her voice sinks to a whisper now. "But, unfortunately, some of the others grow suspicious, and there is already heightened scrutiny around us on these grounds. Nothing so obvious as increased guard activity, but you will find yourself alone far less often, and the slaves may start finding excuses to come check on you in your room."

Cassandra's eyes narrow further. "We need to leave soon, Leliana. Do you have what you need?"

The former bard grins a wicked grin. "Indeed, I have gathered a fair amount of information," she whispers. Louder, she continues. "We will be leaving in four days' time. We have one last meeting with the Black Divine's Council, and then the owner of this estate will see us off."

Cassandra grunts. "I dislike that man."

"Of course you do. He is a Magister and a blood mage, more than likely. And while we know not all blood mages are making deals with demons, you despise its use. No matter. We are here in peace, and we will leave in peace. It is for the Sunburst Throne to decide what we do once we are home."

Cassandra nods. She knows this. She does not know why Leliana says it out loud, and  _so_  loud compared to her earlier whispers, but she is sure the spymaster has her reasons. A moment later, a member of the Magister's staff walks by the window, and Cassandra can only peer curiously at Leliana and her self-satisfied smile.

Finally, the former bard whispers, "I am sorry, but I will be casting their suspicion upon  _you_  to keep it away from Solona and I. We have some… _magic_  to perform, and the best way to keep their scrutiny away from us is to misdirect it. I'm sure you understand."

Cassandra groans before whispering, "The twists and turns in your mind make me dizzy, my friend. But I will do as you wish. I know our safety hinges on your ability to carry out your plans."

"You are an understanding friend, Cassandra. Now go. Solona is waiting for you in the practice yard. I trust Zanneth is decent?"

Cassandra shakes her head. "She is not. But I do not think either of you care."

"She is an  _attractive_  little thing. But, alas, not anything like my preferred type." She smirks. "So you are safe from  _me_ , at the very least. I promise nothing as far as Solona is concerned, however, given our similar sizes…"

Cassandra snorts. "As if that woman would ever even  _dream_  of straying."

"It's true, she is entirely devoted. Though," Leliana adds, lips pursing, "she has been known to flirt and make a show of fancying someone else, just to push my buttons. It usually works, too."

"Why would she do that?"

"Come, Cassandra. You have been in the bedchamber with us. You know she likes me… possessive."

Cassandra's face flushes. "Yes, well. That is entirely enough of  _that_  line of conversation. Now I have to go spar with her…"

Leliana's giggle, always flirtatious-sounding, fills the room. "Have fun, Cassandra!"

Grumbling about the images her mind is feeding her, Cassandra leaves to find Solona out in the practice yard.

* * *

Zanneth looks up at the knock on the door. "Come in," she says in Nevarran, knowing that it is either Leliana or Solona, because no one else knocks.

Leliana walks through the door, offering Zanneth a small smile before closing the door behind her. "Good morning. I was hoping you could accompany me on a ride through the estate today."

Zanneth's brows furrow. "I thought we were to discuss-"

"We are, but we can't  _here_. I will tell you why when we are no longer in the building. I promise."

It is strange, but Zanneth understands enough of Leliana's role for the Chantry that she knows the woman is full of secrets, and must be so. She machinates all manner of things no one ever sees, like the spiders that build their lairs as traps for the poor, unsuspecting prey that wander by. It is distasteful to Zanneth, but Cassandra says that Leliana's job is necessary, and the elf accepts that. But still she is distrustful of this woman and her secrets. Zanneth does not know how to read the human who shares her diminutive height and love of the bow. Perhaps that is what she should focus on? The things they have in common?

"Very well. Let me put on more appropriate clothing."

"And boots," the redhead says, indicating the unused, uncomfortable things in the corner. "Riding without boots would be more uncomfortable than riding with them will be."

Sighing, Zanneth agrees, pulling on her leggings and stockings before pulling on the ill-fitting, clunky things of human invention. Even in the snow, the Dalish wear only flexible leather coverings on their feet, lined with fur for warmth. Being able to feel the ground beneath their feet is important in all they do.

They are silent as they walk to the stables. Leliana takes only a moment to choose a mount, taking her seat with practiced ease. She holds a hand out for Zanneth, and the elf takes it with only a moment of hesitation, not wishing to show her distrust of the giant animal on which she is now expected to perch. She is momentarily stunned at the redhead's strength – she is pulled up with a force Zanneth would have expected from _Cassandra_ , not someone her own size and fifteen years older on top of that.

The beast moves too quickly. Zanneth has a difficult time keeping her seat. Once they are away from the buildings, Leliana slows to a stop, instructing her that she must hold around the human's middle tightly or she will fall. By "tightly" she means that Zanneth must hold their bodies flush together, so close that she can feel every shift of the redhead's body. But Leliana is right; as they regain their speed, she no longer feels as though she will lose her seat.

She settles in. The redhead will speak when it is time. Until then, all she can do is wait.

* * *

"Come. A bath, fair Seeker."

Cassandra frowns. "I have a bath in my chambers."

"If you wanted me to yourself, Cass, all you had to do was ask," the mage says suggestively, white eyebrows waggling.

Cassandra sighs, rolling her eyes. "Very well. The public baths will be fine." Clearly, the mage wishes to speak with her in the baths. Why this would be preferable to utter privacy, she would have to figure out later.

They undress in relative silence, but it is anything but quiet. It appears that mid-morning is a popular time for the baths among the staff and servants in this place. They are surrounded by people who could overhear them say  _anything_. How is this a good time to discuss the method of their escape?

Her question is answered when Solona leads them to a private room, with no glass in the door. It is stone and full of steam and utterly self-contained. Its purpose is immediately obvious.

Cassandra shakes her head in disgust. "A private bath. For sex. Could these Tevinters be any more hedonistic?"

"Well, there are no ropes hanging from the walls, so… yes, yes they could."

"What did you want?" Cassandra folds her arms across her chest, under her breasts. She has never been abashed in her nudity. A warrior sheds that very quickly. "Why did you drag me  _here_  to talk?"

Solona makes a show of leering, but Cassandra knows it is only for show. The mage is loyal to Leliana to a fault. "Honestly, I thought it would be entirely entertaining. And I was right," Solona says with a grin. "But I also knew there would be enough background noise from all the people and the fires that produce this steam that it would be very difficult to overhear us talking."

Cassandra nods. Solona is right. There is a constant low-level noise, even in this private stone room. She dislikes having to go with this ruse that she and the mage are having sex here in this filthy public bath, but all she has to do is remind herself that this is for the purpose of sneaking Zanneth out of Tevinter, and she can stomach it.

Solona sits, unmindful of the fact that countless others have probably smeared themselves over the stone bench. "Alright. So, this plan Leliana cooked up is… bold, even by my standards. But I think it will work, simply because it is entirely unexpected."

"Alright. I'm listening."

The mage smirks. "It involves magic…"


	6. The Escape

"Is everything ready?"

Leliana nods from her place in one of the many plush chairs around her and Solona's rooms. Their belongings are nowhere to be seen, five slaves all it takes to carry everything the three women brought with them. Zanneth is among them, seeing personally to Cassandra's one trunk. Cassandra now checks on her colleagues.

"I am sorry you are not feeling well, Leliana. Are you sure we cannot delay our departure?"

"No, we cannot," Solona answers for her lover, a hand on the smaller woman's shoulder. "If we do not leave now then we risk not being back in time for the Divine's jubilee."

"And everyone knows how important  _that_  is," Cassandra mumbles, irritation flaring. She truly hates those events. "Hopefully the ride home will be uneventful. I am still sore from our sparring yesterday, Warden."

The mage grins. "I could throw you on your back on a more  _comfortable_  surface if you'd prefer, Seeker. Can't guarantee you wouldn't be sore, however."

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise. "I will see you both at the carriage." She turns and leaves the room, heading for the stables. She had ridden a horse here and will be riding it back. It is not her favorite form of transportation, but the idea of riding in the carriage with the sick bard seems utterly intrusive. Let them have their privacy. Cassandra would not want company if  _she_  were stuck traveling with an upset stomach.

She is sitting astride her horse twenty minutes later, ready to depart. Eager, in fact. The sooner she is away from this place, the better.

"Ah, Seeker. Punctual as usual."

Cassandra frowns down at Solona. She isn't sure how, but she knows the mage is ribbing her in some way. "It pays to be on time. Not that  _you_ would know anything about that, Warden."

The serially tardy mage merely chuckles, opening the door to the carriage and letting a pale-looking Leliana in with a small pat to the bard's rump. Winking at Cassandra, she disappears inside after the Left Hand.

Cassandra scowls. It shouldn't upset her, but it does, the way Solona acts around Leliana this day. Shaking her irritation away, the Right Hand spurs her horse forward. "Driver!" she calls.

The man looks up from where he has been speaking with the leader of the six templars they had taken with them into Tevinter. "Yes'm?"

"We are ready to depart. And please, keep the passage from getting too rough. Sister Nightingale is not feeling well."

He merely nods, gathering up the reins and clicking his tongue. Just like that, they are off.

_Nothing is amiss so far… we shall see how long that lasts._

They travel for hours before making a stop for a meal. Their Tevinter escorts are still with them, breaking bread only grudgingly with the templars that had come from Orlais with the Divine's Right and Left Hands.

"Solona, where is your… companion?" Cassandra asks when Solona appears alone from the carriage.

"Oh, she's tired out. Didn't get a  _wink_  of sleep so far. I suppose I've kept her too busy…"

Cassandra gives her a dirty look. She is being baited. She knows it. And yet she cannot keep her biting response to herself. "Well, you always were more good as a jester than as a  _serious_  mage."

The warden keeps smirking, waggling her eyebrows at Cassandra. The Right Hand barely suppresses her urge to voice her disgust, turning and stalking toward the man handing out the hard bread and cheese they are to eat. Taking a small sniff of the pungent cheese, she sighs.  _Trail food… At least this stop will not take long_.

* * *

It takes three days, but finally they are on the border with Nevarra, and their host's guards turn around, leaving Cassandra and her companions alone.

Leliana is no longer sick, but she has kept to herself this trip, spending hours and hours alone with Solona, who never misses an opportunity to remind Cassandra of all the alone time she and Leliana are getting. It is irksome.

So irksome that by the time they reach the border, Cassandra is ready to burst.

"You can come out now." She stands at the door of the carriage. Her tone is clipped. Her face feels hot despite the crisp winter air.

She is answered with a soft moan, followed by giggling. The carriage moves as if those inside are being quite active, the sound of much rustling and clinking of belt buckles greeting her ears.

"Oh for pity's sake…" Alone among her own cohorts now, Cassandra can act. She has had enough. She has been teased and tortured and has not touched her lover in  _days_  and it has all come together to make her so much more than irritable. Narrowing her eyes, she wrenches the door open, nearly pulling it off its hinges before reaching in and fisting Solona's shirt in her hand.

The next moment, the mage is on her back on the ground with a sword at her throat. The weapon is held by the Right Hand of the Divine, a scowl firmly in place. The templars look on in astonishment, but none attempt to intervene.

"Our escort is several hours gone, Warden. We can drop the charade."

Solona eyes the sword before meeting the Seeker's gaze. A single eyebrow raises, and then the mage is smiling guiltily. "I suppose I got a little carried away with teasing you."

"It has been torturous and you know it."

Surprisingly, the mage's expression falls. "I needed a distraction. I know she is capable, but I worry for her. I cannot help it."

Cassandra's expression softens, and she lowers her sword. "I… damn you. Yes, alright. You did well, but can we stop with the joking? Leliana will be alright. She has gotten herself out of worse."

Solona nods, finding her feet. "Yes, you are right. I apologize for getting carried away. Truce?"

Cassandra eyes the mage's proffered hand. Speaking over her shoulder, she asks in Nevarran, "She did not touch you or make you uncomfortable?"

Leliana emerges from the carriage. "No,  _emma lath_ , she was a perfect gentleman." Her voice is decidedly  _not_  Leliana's.

Cassandra nods, taking Solona's hand. "Truce," she agrees in Orlesian, immediately sheathing her sword and turning to the redhead. "Now please, drop the enchantment. I would look upon her dear face."

A murmured few words and Cassandra's hair stands on the back of her neck. The next moment, however, her lover stands before her in some of Leliana's travel clothes, the glamour charm that was cast upon her now gone. Zanneth smiles, holds out her hands, and Cassandra is on her, gathering the small elf up into her arms. It has been three days of this torture, and now finally she can hold her lover in her embrace.

"I was wondering how they were going to manage that," one of the templars – actually spies of Leliana's who have been conducting reconnaissance – murmurs to a compatriot.

Cassandra immediately turns. "I would expect one of Leliana's people to be less gossip-prone and more discreet," she snaps.

Solona snorts, going to Cassandra's horse. "They are spies, Cass. They  _thrive_  on gossip."

"I-"

"Please,  _ma vhenan_ ," Zanneth murmurs in Nevarran. "Let us away with this collar, and retire as we were promised we could do when this was all over?"

Cassandra's heart – and her cheeks – warm. Solona will be riding the horse from here on out so that Cassandra and Zanneth can have some time alone to reconnect now that the elf's freedom is gained. "Yes, alright, dear one. Leliana gave you the device?"

The now-free slave nods, pulling a small tool from the depths of her cloak. Cassandra takes it, examining it closely. It is small and simple, but she can already see the way the small mechanisms fit into the fastenings of the collar about her lover's neck.

"Turn around," she says quietly. The elf obeys, and there it is, the complicated metal fastening to the hard leather collar. They could have cut it off, but the collar fits snugly, and is very wide; to slip a knife under it would have the very real risk of damaging the wearer's throat. It was better for Leliana to have found and stolen this item than to try to remove this themselves. It also allowed Leliana to affix her own collar, which she is wearing while posing as the elven slave.

The tool fits perfectly. In a moment, the collar is off, and Zanneth turns, the blasted thing in her hands. She stares down quietly at it for a moment before her large brown eyes meet Cassandra's. "I wish to burn it tonight."

Cassandra smiles unreservedly. " _That_ , I can do."

The elf nods, holding out a hand. "Come. I have missed you,  _emma lath_."

Cassandra's cheeks heat at Solona's wolf whistle, but she follows her lover obediently into the welcoming darkness of the carriage.

The moment the door is closed, small hands are pulling at her clothing. Cassandra cannot even smirk and tease, for she feels the same way – she cannot be out of her clothing fast enough. She must  _feel_  this small woman. She's free.

"Sweet Maker, you are  _free_ ," she murmurs, fingers caressing Zanneth's bare throat, and their movements halt. There is very little light in this cramped space, but in what little there is Cassandra can see large, dark eyes shining with moisture. Rather than pull the young woman to her breast to weep, she merely kisses her cheeks, brushing the tears away. Her hands cradle the elf's face and then they are kissing, drinking each other in like a dying man needing to slake his thirst.

Their clothes are off before the carriage finally begins moving. It introduces only a moment's hesitation before they are laughing and kissing and touching and sighing into the afternoon. They are free.

When Cassandra finally pushes into her lover, she is met with the most delicious gasp and sigh, as if they are both finally right where they belong after too long a time away. If Cassandra could frame this moment in some way and observe it later for a reminder of this feeling of relief, it would be that sound, the warm, wet feeling around her fingers, and the way the elf reaches for her face so that Cassandra can swallow her sighs.

They sleep away the rest of the afternoon wrapped snugly in each other's arms, the jostling of the carriage not bothering either of them in the slightest.

* * *

" _Stay very still. I have never done this before_. _"_

_Cassandra scoffs. "Is that supposed to comfort us, Warden?"_

" _Hush, Cassandra," Leliana admonishes. She and Zanneth sit very still next to each other on a divan. Leliana wears a collar and the clothes of a slave, while Zanneth is in the hooded vestments of the Left Hand. It is late; they do not wish to be found out by the slaves here on the estate._

" _I apologize. I will let you work," Cassandra concedes. She steps back, watching as Solona begins to murmur. As far as the Seeker understands it, the spell is a complex one. It is not blood magic, but it_ _ **is**_ _discouraged outside of Tevinter. It involves bewitching the subject's face to trick the eyes of the onlooker, rather than actually making any substantive change in either Zanneth or Leliana. Solona can only do it because she has been studying all there is to read in the great library of the Magister in whose estate they are staying. She only stumbled upon instructions for the spell the day the plan was conceived._

_Cassandra's eyes widen as, with one final word, the elf and the Left Hand's faces trade places. "Astounding," she whispers, awed._

_Solona smirks. "Some Seeker, so impressed by magic."_

" _So it works, then?" Zanneth asks, though it is Leliana's voice that issues forth._

" _Yes," Solona says, a hand on her lover's shoulder. It is strange to see Zanneth looking upon the mage with such fondness, and to see Leliana's face looking at_ _ **Cassandra**_ _with such open affection. "Though you ought not speak. Your voice is still your own."_

_Leliana nods. "Understood."_

" _Do you feel any different?" Cassandra asks Zanneth, speaking in Nevarran, as always._

_Zanneth's voice issues from Leliana's mouth. "No. I feel perfectly normal."_

" _And when you look at Leliana, what do you see?"_

" _Her face."_

_Solona smiles. "This really is a clever trick. I should experiment with it some when we return."_

" _Do so in the Divine's palace, and we will have issue," Cassandra warns. "I do not need people disguised as other people roaming freely near the Divine."_

" _I am pledged to protect her as well, Seeker. Calm yourself."_

" _If we can get back to the matter at hand?" Leliana says, eyebrow raised. It is so strange to see Zanneth's face making Leliana's typical expressions. "I will sleep in your bed this night, Cassandra. I will stay here until the opportunity to leave presents itself, and then I will slip away. I will be able to move quickly on my own, but still it will take me a little longer to get to our rendezvous on the opposite side of the border."_

_Cassandra nods. "Yes. We will await your return to us, and then be gone from this place."_

" _I like simple," Solona says. "Less chance for things to go tits-up."_

_Cassandra raises a brow. "That's a new level of vulgarity, even for you, Warden."_

" _Oh just_ _ **wait**_ _. The levels of vulgarity I could come up with for you, Seeker." Solona waggles her eyebrows._

" _If you two are_ _ **quite**_ _finished…"_

_Cassandra smirks. "Alright. Let us to bed. We have an early morning."_

" _Don't get into trouble over there," Solona throws at them as they exit. Cassandra shakes her head. Out of all of them, the mage is the most insatiable. The Seeker almost feels sorry for Leliana… but she knows Leliana was the one to kickstart the warden and her libidinous ways more than ten years before._

* * *

Solona approaches Cassandra, who is oiling her blade in the light of the morning sun. Zanneth watches the woman, still immensely curious. Solona is… unlike anyone Zanneth has ever known. She jokes, is quick to laugh and smile, reminding Zanneth very closely of her late husband; but there is an immense power there, just under the surface, that Sinna did not possess. She has never known any other person to possess it. At times, Zanneth feels as if it is barely held in check, as though it is pulsing  _through_  the mage, like firelight shining through the material of a tent. She is not sure if it frightens her or fascinates her more. One thing she is certain of, however: her grandmother would  _love_  to meet this human mage with the arcane arts of her ancient ancestors.

Cassandra and Solona begin speaking, words in Orlesian that Zanneth does not understand. But she recognizes the concern etched in Solona's expressive face, as well as the subtle signs in her own lover. Cassandra rests her hand on the hilt of her weapon when she feels protective. Her shoulders tense when she hears something she doesn't like. And the myriad types of frowns she is capable of… Zanneth is sure she has not yet learned them all.

Now Cassandra leaves a fretting Solona, walking to Zanneth. "Solona is worried," the warrior says without preamble.

"I gathered," Zanneth says with a nod.

"It is Leliana. She should be here by now. Normally I would not worry about her, but if Solona is this agitated…" She sighs. "Maybe we should double back, see what might have happened to her."

Zanneth knits her brows. "But we worked so hard to get this far undetected. If sentries see you or Solona, they will know something is amiss."

Cassandra frowns. "What other choice do we have? I will not leave her. She risked everything to get you out, for me. I cannot abandon her to her fate."

"I agree." Zanneth is quiet for a moment before she perks up in her seat. "Send me."

"What?" Cassandra sounds incredulous.

As she thinks about it, the elf becomes more and more sure. "I will go. I am a huntress, skilled at disappearing into any shadow, up into any tree, that can hold me. I track every day of my life. If she can be found, I can find her."

Zanneth stands, now decided.

Cassandra's voice is almost panicked. "But… I just got you free, Zanneth! I… I will come with you." The warrior reaches for her shield.

Zanneth stills her lover, seeking out her gaze. "You cannot come, Cassandra. If the sentries see you…"

"They will not." Cassandra does not look sure. It is an unusual expression on the Seeker's face.

Zanneth gives her a sardonic look. "Cassandra, you are a warrior, not a hunter, not a tracker. They  _will_  see you."

"You are so sure?" The warrior seems almost offended, but not quite.

"I know how loud you can be," Zanneth says, low, smiling at the furious blush that blooms across the Seeker's features. Moving closer, she pushes herself into Cassandra's arms. "I know you worry for me, but I actually  _can_  defend myself."

Cassandra is angry. She is panicking in her worry. Her temper flares and her voice fills with a desperate frustration as its volume rises. "You cannot tell me not to worry, Zanneth! I found you because you were a captive of Tevinter; now you want to go back in, mere days after leaving?! Infiltrate them?!"

"I got unlucky last time. Sinna and I were careless. No more. I will be careful." She reaches up, cupping a scarred cheek. "I only wish to find out what happened. I want to help. She risked much to set me free, as did Solona. I would return the favor. And since you cannot…"

"Because I am loud," Cassandra says flatly.

"Yes." Zanneth smiles. "Loud and clumsy, the both of you. You cannot sneak. You could barely manage subterfuge in that estate with me to distract you and direct your attention day in and day out. I cannot imagine you would have managed so long without a lover to distract you."

The Seeker's shoulders sag, admitting her defeat. "You are right."

The elf nods. "Good. So I will go, right now. I will need supplies…"

Cassandra nods, not yet releasing her hold around the elf's waist. "Can I ask one boon of you, dear one?"

"Anything,  _emma lath_."

"Take some of Leliana's people with you. They are spies, skilled at secrecy, at blending in, both indoors and out. You will be a small group, capable of stealth, but you will be more protected than if you go alone."

Zanneth nods, smiling warmly up at her lover. "I can do that, Cassandra. But… language?"

One of the group bustling around the camp speaks up, a small woman barely larger than Zanneth. "We each speak a dozen languages, ser," she says in perfect Nevarran. "You can hardly spy when you can't understand what's being said."

Cassandra rolls her eyes. "Of  _course_  you do." Making a disgusted noise, she finally releases her hold on Zanneth, addressing the "templars" milling about. "Go get ready. And do not make me remind you what  _privacy_  is." Turning, her gaze falls on Zanneth once more. "You will need weapons, and something more protective than your leggings…"

They spend the rest of the morning outfitting her. Zanneth leaves before midday, many reassurances as well as kisses exchanged between them.

* * *

The waiting is intolerable. Cassandra paces. Solona lights her own hands afire countless times, staring through the flame, not actually seeing it. They spar, joined by those spies who did not accompany Zanneth. Both their fighting gets more ruthless by the day, finally ending in an injury that Cassandra only survives because Solona immediately heals it. The Seeker sleeps fitfully and she knows Solona does, as well.

It is three days before the tension reaches the breaking point and Solona appears from her tent, fully armed.

"I am going after her, Seeker. Something is wrong. I must do something."

Cassandra opens her mouth to protest, but one look at the arcane warrior's face stills her. The mage is desperate, and in her desperation she would lay waste to this entire clearing if they try to stop her. Changing tack, Cassandra nods. "Very well. I will accompany you."

Half an hour later they are ready to leave, fully armed and provisioned, when an alarm is raised. "Seeker! Warden! They return! A healer is needed!"

They exchange a look, the color draining from Solona's face before the mage leaps away, running full-tilt for the shouting sentry. Cassandra reaches the group on the mage's heels, stopping dead in her tracks at the scene before her.

Leliana is being placed upon the ground. She is white as a sheet, her red hair standing out much more starkly than usual. But that is not the only red Cassandra sees. The Seeker blanches when she realizes that the leggings are not  _supposed_  to be red. They started out white, when last she saw Leliana. Now they are the dark, dark red of drying blood, especially along the left leg. The Left Hand has been wounded, badly. Who knows when or where it happened, or how long she has been traveling with an open wound? It is likely infected, given Leliana's clamminess. And very,  _very_  painful.

As she gets closer, Cassandra sees that Leliana is barely conscious, murmuring low, eyes rolled back in her head as she weakly bats at Solona. The Warden-Commander is already on her knees, Zanneth and the spies who had accompanied her giving them room. They are utterly ignored by the suddenly authoritative arcane warrior.

Solona stands with the bard in her arms and begins barking orders. "Someone boil water; I need bandages. And I need fresh bedding. And someone get my bag of supplies – there are potions and the makings for poultices in there."

Cassandra immediately goes for the supplies. It is clear Zanneth is not hurt. The more pressing concern is Leliana. Guilt flares deep in her chest as she enters Solona's tent. Leliana risked her life for  _her_ , and now she lies pale and sweating, possibly near death.

_Why did I agree to this plan? What in the Maker's name made me think this would work; was worth it?_

_You wanted Zanneth free, and this was the only way you could see that avoided bloodshed, that avoided exposing yourselves as spies in the Magister's midst._

_No. That is a convenient lie. I wanted Zanneth free so badly that I would risk my oldest and best friend's life. I am selfish, and it may have gotten Leliana killed._

_She volunteered. It was important to her as well._

_Only because she is my friend, and because I nearly begged for her to help me with this. This is_ _**my** _ _fault. I will not avoid the blame for the problems my faults cause._

The tent is tidy, surprisingly so. Solona's bag of supplies is easy to locate, and Cassandra has it in her arms and is exiting the tent within seconds of entering. Solona has Leliana by the firepit, in the sunlight so that she may see all there is to see. Already the men who had accompanied them are gone from the clearing, presumably keeping watch and letting the women work.

Leliana is still, having fallen unconscious.

The Seeker goes to the mage's side, wordlessly handing over the satchel. Solona nods, setting it aside as she pulls a sharp knife, cutting away Leliana's clothing. They both wince and hiss as the bard's flesh is laid bare. Upon her left hip is a gash the likes of which Cassandra has rarely seen. It is open, and ugly; deep, red, surrounded in dried blood, the pink edges ragged. It is long, reaching from the side of Leliana's waist down to the front of her belly, likely grazing along her pelvis. The woman's leggings have probably dug in uncomfortably. Who knows how long this wound has been here? It is no longer bleeding, but given how it looks, and the bard's feverishness, this is  _not_  a good sign.

"Andraste's ass, this is bad," Solona murmurs, reaching up and cutting away Leliana's robe. It becomes clear they are working with only one wound. Bless the Maker for small mercies.

Solona does not bother with healing magic yet. Healing magic cannot burn out infections. Healing magic cannot clean wounds. It can only knit together damaged flesh. Anything inside will stay there, festering and eventually killing the patient. They need the wound open and bleeding with no pus or other contaminants. Only then can the mage work with her arcane skills instead of her mundane ones.

Instead she takes a deep, steadying breath. "I must lance the wound, Cassandra. I need your help. Spread it as wide as it will allow without tearing the flesh. I will wield the knife."

Cassandra nods, rolling up her sleeves. Her weapons and gauntlets have already been abandoned. Zanneth and Leliana's spies – the female ones, at least – look on, available should they be needed. A fire crackles, a pot of water over it with linen bandages waiting for the water to boil. Cassandra suspects Solona will help it along in the end, as the woman is impatient, and their charge is in dire need of aid.

Reaching forward, Cassandra splays her hands over her friend's skin, gently pulling the ragged edges of the wound apart. Solona studies it only for a moment before taking her knife and making a sure, swift cut inside. Pus and blood well immediately, nearly making the hardened warrior sick. She swallows it down, steeling herself. She will be no help if she loses the contents of her stomach now.

Without prompting, Zanneth is at their side, pressing clean linens into Solona's hands. The mage nods her thanks, eyes on the wound to which she is tending.

"I must cleanse this. Is the water ready?" She looks up, making it clear she already knows the answer when her eyes alight. A blast of flame is shot at the fire, and the wood immediately incinerates. The water jumps to a boil, and Cassandra watches as the spies, accustomed to Solona's magic, simply ladle boiling water into cold and give the bowl to the arcane warrior. Solona, eyes no longer glowing, tests the water. Seemingly satisfied, she immediately pours the bowl's contents into the wound. As blood and pus slosh out, it already looks better, the flesh around the wound less swollen. The process is repeated multiple times until the water comes away clean. Then the wound is dried, and slathered in healing poultices. Hopefully, the herbal concoctions can draw out the rest of the infection, for until that happens, there is little else they can do.

Leliana is wrapped in a blanket and in Solona's arms now, the mage heading for her tent. Leliana needs rest, and Solona needs the relief privacy will allow. Cassandra can only imagine. She has seen her lover injured, but it was before the woman had come to mean so much to her. To see Zanneth like this now? Cassandra would, quite simply, be murderous.

It is only once the danger is gone and Leliana is out of sight that Cassandra's attention turns to her lover. "Dear one, you are alright?"

Zanneth nods, pushing herself roughly into Cassandra's arms. "Yes,  _ma vhenan_. I am undamaged."

Cassandra pushes the elf away and looks her over, searching for wounds or blood. Blood she finds, but it is clearly not her own. "You are covered in blood. Let us go to the stream. We can talk, and wash it away."

Zanneth nods, taking the warrior's hand and leading her in the direction of the stream.

* * *

"As far as I understand it, the glamour charm dropped on Leliana at the same time it dropped on me."

Cassandra's face drains of color. "And she was not yet gone from the estate?"

Zanneth nods as she pulls her clothing away from her skin. She is so covered in the redheaded human's blood that she needs to wash her entire body. In the freezing stream. The elf does not look forward to it, but it must be done. It will not be the first ice-cold bath she takes, and it will likely not be the last.

Finding Leliana had been simple. Zanneth and the three who had accompanied her had traveled quickly over the Tevinter-Nevarra border. They had kept to the shadows, away from roads, and slept in the trees during the most-traveled parts of the day. They had found Leliana halfway back to the estate. Honestly, the only reason she had been found so quickly was because the human was already having feverish hallucinations and had lashed out at them as they passed.

Getting her back had been the tricky part. They had had to restrain her before taking turns carrying her. All the while keeping an eye out for healing herbs that do not grow in the winter.

The Left Hand had regained some cogency the day before arriving back at camp, explaining what had happened in minimal detail. Red hair was not common in the Imperium; Leliana had been immediately recognized when her disguise had fallen, and the guards had seen, and swords were drawn. Leliana had received the gash immediately, as she'd had no way to know she no longer had a disguise. What followed had been a mad-cap dash after Solona and the others, with no food, no water, and no outdoor clothing. Somehow the woman had avoided frostbite, and the chill had staved off the infection some, but for the most part Leliana was feverish and experiencing intermittent hallucinations.

Until she dropped into a sort of semi-consciousness. Then it had been a race against time to get her back to the camp to receive help.

"Solona did not know… how could she not know this would happen?"

Zanneth shrugs, taking a tentative step into the water. "Who can say? She did warn us she had never performed the spell before. Perhaps it was a detail she missed in the instructions, or it never was mentioned in the first place. We will not know until Leliana is awake and her giant of a lover is once-again able to focus on other things."

Cassandra nods, kneeling at the stream's edge. She has only her hands and arms to clean. "It would be cruel to tell her what happened now." The warrior is quiet as she washes away the blood and pus from her skin and under her nails, but speaks again as she stands. "You saved her, Zanneth. You were right, and you saved her. You saved each other. It is rather poetic, in a way."

Zanneth shivers. The water is so cold. But she dutifully walks in until it is to her knees, then crouches so she may scrub at her skin.

She is… grateful, that she was able to save Leliana. She had born no trust for the woman before, but now? Now the human has risked her life just to free Zanneth. She has earned Zanneth's trust in one of the few ways she ever could have.

The elf begins to wash. "You are such an interesting woman, Cassandra. So passionate, yet your outer appearance is that of calm stoicism. Sitting still, awaiting our return, must have been almost too much to bear. How are you?"

"Not well," Cassandra admits, taking a seat on a low rock. "I feel to blame for all that has happened."

Zanneth is unsurprised. Cassandra's sense of guilt is… overdeveloped. "This is not your fault, Cassandra," she says, not stopping in her chore of scrubbing away all the dried blood. The stream is cold, and rapidly stealing her body heat. "We are, all of us, to blame, in a way. I allowed you all to risk so much for me. I could have stayed-"

"Maker, do not even say that!"

"I know,  _emma lath_ , but it is true, as unbearable as it would be. We could have come up with some other solution. You could have purchased me, or we could have simply slipped the collar off and let me find my own way here, thus not risking anyone's life but my own. But we went this path, at Leliana's suggesting. I am as much to blame as you, my dear woman."

"You are not to blame, Zanneth."

"Then neither are you,  _ma vhenan_. It simple…  _is_. And it will be okay. We got her back in time."

"You are so sure?"

Zanneth smiles as she emerges from the frigid water. "Yes. Yes, I am. Hopefully, in a day or two, we can thank her personally."

The warrior stands, picking up her cloak. "I… thank you, Zanneth. You saved her. She saved you, and you saved her, and all was done for me, for us. I… I do not know what I have done to deserve such people in my life."

"You have been your wonderful self, Cassandra. Now get over here with your cloak, woman. I'm freezing."

Cassandra smiles and nods, moving to the elf's side and wrapping her in the warm cloak, taking her into her arms and kissing her deeply. It is not all better. Zanneth knows Cassandra still feels guilt. She knows they have much to discuss. She knows that Leliana is not out of the woods just yet. But she has been returned alive, and Zanneth has earned her place among these powerful women who dictate how the world moves. It is not all perfect, but compared to her life mere weeks before? It is good and it is right. She cannot ask for more.


	7. Epilogue

A mabari runs into camp.

"By the Creators… what is  _that_?!"

"It's attacking!"

"If there's one of those here, then the  _shemlen_  won't be far behind!"

"Calm down, everyone, his name is Max!" Zanneth shouts, face flushing as everyone in camp turns to look at her.

The hound bays happily when he sees Zanneth. She spent an entire winter in his company – he knows her well. He whines, hums, and pushes himself into the elf's arms, allowing her to greet him with a hug. She ignores those around her as she greets the familiar grizzled war dog. The letter she last sent to his human companions is on her mind. She has not told Hyune that she expected this hound to find her, that it likely means goodbye.

Nine months ago, as winter was approaching spring, Cassandra took Zanneth away from Val Royeaux, away from the Chantry and the people and the parties and curious gazes. They had spent all winter in each other's warm, secure embrace, learning each other inside and out. Parties were attended, duties tended to, and language lessons given, but always the two had returned to each other's arms. But then Cassandra, Leliana, and Solona took Zanneth on a mystery hunting trip…

Only to present her to her clan.

Oh, Zanneth was overjoyed. She burst into her younger brother's arms, greeting her grandmother – their Keeper – with kisses and tears, and embracing more than a few friends. Cassandra smiled, nodded, and departed, as if that were the end of it.

Zanneth gave chase, of course, but the human warrior insisted. The elf could not deny that the pull to her people was strong, but she did not go through hell and back to be with Cassandra just to leave her now.

Her tears threatened to completely destroy her when Leliana, bless her, came up with a solution.

_"Why don't you stay with your people through the summer, at least, Zanneth? Be with them, hunt with them, help them thrive. Make your decision come next spring."_

Zanneth agreed, as did Cassandra, and Leliana had promised to keep them in touch through letters. As the Dalish were constantly on the move, it required some creativity on the spymaster's part, but she managed to come up with a rather clever solution: she gifted the elf a falcon. Zanneth had spent all winter in the spymaster's company, watching and listening and learning. The hunting birds were so clever that they could find who they needed no matter where they were. This bird would be hers, and could be sent on a journey to Val Royeaux and back, bringing correspondence with it.

They promised to write, but in the end, what could she write?  _I love you, I miss you, I wish to have you in my arms_. That was the long and short of it. And it seemed to be all Cassandra could come up with, as well. Yes, they elongated that sentence to paragraphs, Cassandra writing about her duties, the obnoxious parties she hated, the long hours she spent in the drill yard. But all Zanneth saw in those words was her loneliness, her refusal to shed tears into her pillow, and her attempts at not touching herself in her lover's absence.

And Zanneth did the same.

Sometimes, she awoke sweaty, her nerves frayed, the sound of Cassandra's sighs ghosting in her ears, the darkness holding the specter of the Seeker for a mere moment before the elf woke fully. At first she tried relieving the ache with her own hand, but she soon found that it only served to bring the loneliness into sharper focus so she stopped trying.

Zanneth's experience has changed her irrevocably. She no longer disdains humans. She speaks fondly of the three women she spent so much time with. She does not even tell anyone that she became lovers with one, but still her clan acts as though the humans who returned Zanneth were in fact responsible for her capture in the first place.

Her appearance has changed, her black hair with a streak of white, her cheek scarred forevermore from the slaver's knife. She keeps her hair short, though she cannot say why. She stands out among the People, and she receives sideways looks and whispered comments about her appearance, her manners, and her tendency to weave Orlesian into her speech.

The only joy left among her clan is her brother and her grandmother. But… it does not outweigh her loneliness. Her grandmother has noticed.

_"You pout and wallow, da'len. What happened to you while you were gone? Do you mourn Sinna still?"_

_"No, Grandmother. He was a good man, and I regret he is gone… but I know you know I did not love him as a wife should." Her grandmother merely nods, remaining silent. Zanneth sighs, melting into her grandmother's lap as she did when she was a child. "There is another whose company I miss."_

_Her grandmother is silent for a long time, petting Zanneth's short hair slowly as she thinks. It is her way; it has always been her way. Finally, though, she speaks, and her words surprise the young huntress._

_"You spent a great deal of time with the human women who brought you back to us. As I understand it, they saved you from slavery." It is a statement, not a question to be answered. "It is uncommon among the People, as our numbers must be bolstered through marriage. But I know among the humans it is common enough, the love between women, the love between men. The one with the dark hair and the warrior's scars… you love her." Again, it is not a question._

_Zanneth's heart pounds against her ribs as she nods her head despite it being a statement._

_"Then what are you doing here, da'len?"_

_Her heart stops beating altogether. Sitting up, she regards her grandmother with new eyes. "Grandmother, you…"_

_The Keeper takes Zanneth's hands, smiling eyes dancing in the low light. "You are not happy here, not truly. You have Hyune, and you have me, but that is all, and it is not enough. Your heart is not here – it is with the warrior woman who fought so hard to bring you back to us. I know that falcon you were gifted brings you her messages. Send one. Find your love, da'len. It is rare enough to find the bearer of one's heart in life – it is not worth letting that person go once she is found."_

_The huntress's heart begins pounding again, and she is in her grandmother's arms, hugging her and kissing her dear face. Then she is flying for the aravel she shares with the other widows and unmarried women, pulling quill and parchment and writing a hasty note._

**_I have made my decision. Come find us. We are heading toward the border with Orlais._ **

A month has passed since that conversation, her falcon sent bearing her message within minutes of Zanneth having written it. She has been giddy, unbearably happy. People have noticed. They talk, say she is being courted by someone else, though they know not who the young man might be; they praise her for being able to remarry after Sinna. She stays quiet. The truth would only upset them.

She did not expect Max to show up, per se, but it does not surprise her – the humans needed to find her somehow. Smiling, Hyune looking on perplexedly as she removes herself from the dog's one-pawed embrace, Zanneth turns and strides into the camp. She says nothing, merely goes for the travel bag she has had packed for nearly a month. Emerging from her aravel, her mother's hunting coat now firmly affixed over her clothes, she goes to her grandmother, their Keeper, and nearly falls into her arms.

"You are leaving, Zanneth." It is, once again, not a question.

"Yes, Grandmother."

"Your human warrior has come for you?"

Zanneth smiles, pulling back from the embrace. "Yes. The dog is… their loyal companion."

"Take Hyune with you to meet them. Someone should see this love of yours. We must be able to assure our clan with what we've seen with our own eyes. And you  _will_  need him to see to assure  _him_  that it is not captivity you go back to."

Zanneth nods, sniffing away a tear. "I will miss you, Grandmother. Keep my falcon – I would still speak with you."

The Keeper's wrinkled face cracks into a grin. "There is the clever girl I raised. Yes, I would be honored. I knew you would think of a solution. Goobye,  _lethallan._ "

Smiling, Zanneth nods, kissing the Keeper's cheek one last time. Without saying anything further, she turns, finds her brother, and beckons him. "Lead on, Max," she says in Orlesian, and the dog, the center of much attention from adults and children alike, bounds away, leading herself and a very confused Hyune away from camp.

* * *

"Why will you not tell me what is going on, Sister?!"

Zanneth smirks. "Always so impatient,  _lethallin_."

"Fine. Keep your secrets," he nearly pouts. He walks with his bow loosely in one hand as they follow Max. Zanneth does not bother with her own weapon, keeping it strapped firmly to her back. She knows she is headed only toward safety.

They walk nearly two hours, following the mabari, before the trees part and they are in a clearing. Hyune's bow is up, an arrow aimed almost immediately, but Zanneth has no eyes for his wariness. She is running, a name on her lips she has not dared to speak in  _months_.

"Cassandra!"

The warrior looks unchanged. She turns from her conversation with Leliana, eyes large, expression open, surprised. She barely has time to drop whatever she has been holding before the elven huntress is in her arms, feet leaving the ground as she throws herself at the taller human.

"Zanneth!"

It is all she can say, for the elf's lips are on hers and they are kissing with a desperation borne of nine  _months_  without seeing each other. She is surrounded by Cassandra's scent, her taste, her warmth. Long, strong, protective arms engulf her, holding her aloft. The body underneath the travel leathers is firm and warm, quivering to be so near the elf. It is all blessedly familiar, even though they were only together for mere months.

Every ounce of loneliness Zanneth has experienced, and every ounce of giddiness since sending her last letter, is poured into that kiss, and it is returned, making it clear that her affections have not been misplaced. This woman  _loves_  her.

"Zanneth, for the love of all the Creators, tell me what is going on!"

The huntress finally lets the Seeker go, finding her feet and turning, not daring to stop touching her love. Her cheeks do heat, however. "Hyune put your bow down. These are the women who saved me. They will not hurt us."

"They are  _shem_ ," he says flatly, his bow still aimed, though she notes the arrow is loose.

"Hyune..." Her tone holds warning, and he listens, finally lowering his bow.

"Is this the brother you have told me about, dear one?" Cassandra steps forward, next to her. "He looks just like you." The Seeker's voice is husky, like she is tamping down on her desire. It makes Zanneth wish very much that she can drag the human off, peel off her clothes, and ravish her.

But instead she nods. "Yes. Hyune, this is Cassandra. I… I love her, and I will be leaving with her."

He is quiet, looking at them closely. His eyes return numerous times to their intertwined hands. Cassandra makes to speak once or twice, but Zanneth squeezes her hand to hold her back; Hyune needs to process this on his own.

When he finally speaks Solona and Leliana have joined them, the spymaster's hand lightly on Zanneth's shoulder, kind and familiar, offering her support as a friend. Somehow, even though they have not spoken in nine months, the two of them are friends, will always be friends. "You are certain, Zanneth?"

She nods. "I am."

"Grandmother knows?"

Zanneth grins. "It is she who smacked me about the head to get me to see that this is what I want."

His grin is a mirror of hers. "That does sound like her."

"I left the falcon with her, Hyune. We will write. We can visit. This is not the end. But I cannot… my heart resides with this warrior, and I would be separate from her, from my heart, no longer."

Her brother's gaze shifts to Cassandra, who has remained quiet and calm by the elf's side. "You love her,  _shem_?"

"I do." It is simple, but it is the truth, and it is very much a  _Cassandra_  wat to answer.

"And you will not harm her?"

"We have already moved hell and earth to get her freedom. I have every interest in keeping her intact and  _happy_. When I can no longer provide that… she will be free to seek her fortunes where she can find them."

Seemingly satisfied, Hyune nods, removing the arrow from his bow and stowing it. He stands stoically, looking on, not saying anything further.

_Now… now what?_

"If you would be willing, we can share a meal before we part ways," Solona suggests, gesturing to the fire and the stew bubbling over it. "We were just about to break bread ourselves."

Zanneth smiles. This is a Dalish tradition – you never send hunters or sentries off without offering them a meal. Bonding happens over meals. Food connects the People in a way almost nothing else can. It is life-giving, and a good, hot meal can reinvigorate a hunter in a way almost nothing else – not even sleep – can. She releases her hold on Cassandra and holds out her hand for her brother.

It takes him a moment, but he nods, walking forward and taking her hand. It will be strange to share a meal with her two families, of sorts. But she would have Hyune trust her decision. They sit, they eat, they drink, and they tell stories. Stories, the lifeblood of the Dalish.

"You are here, dear one. I would have you know that I am yours, until the end of my days," Cassandra croons low in her ear, sending a shiver up her spine.

"My dear woman," Zanneth whispers back, looking up into that dear face that has haunted her dreams for months and smiling unreservedly, "I do believe you are mistaken. I do believe that I am yours."


End file.
